I almost did something totally cray-cray. I almost went home for Christmas from NYC to Bismarck via a 44 hour bus saga.

What the bag of poorly trained chimpanzees was I thinking?

I thought it would be nice, taking the scenic route, watching as the temperate East unfolded into the snow speckled woods slowly transforming into blanketed prairies of my home state.

I was excited at the prospect of a 1d 19h ride and how much reading and writing I could potentially knock off during this time–a coffee in my hand, maybe some Alexi Murdoch on the iPod. Sounds great right?

But then, just as I was about to book my Greyhound ticket, I looked into the past, not the imagined future, and came to my senses. I recalled a time five years ago when I was thinking similar thoughts that led me to taking a 18-hour bus ride from Minneapolis to Chicago. I thought back to my bench-mate, the way his pear-shaped body sorta draped over mine, like a man blanket.

I remembered the man behind me, how he constantly sneezed into his open Bible like he wanted to give the Lord a good talking to. Then I remembered how sticky my shoes were by the end of this trip, how my legs were somehow always too warm and my torso freezing. I remembered wishing the windows opened so I could jump out of the bus, baling out on the highway.

Flights and bus tickets were relatively the same price. What was I thinking? Clearly, I wasn’t again. I walked to the microwave, caught a glimpse of my reflection, gave him a stern look and said, “Get yourself together man! Ditch these childhood bus station dreams. Stop idealizing a bus system that has only ever existed in your mind/”

I guess the lesson here, is that when booking travel, be realistic, not idealistic and poetic.

You always think it’s going to be like this: 

But get real, it’s always like this:

(Sorry Greyhound, your drivers are always very nice. But seriously what is sticky and everywhere?)