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December 31st

They^[1] say the highways between L.A. and San Francisco are breathtaking^[2] but we never saw them. 7 pm at the train station and the whole world’s wasted.^[3] We hold hands through beating crowds of marauders^[4], make our way to the travel shop. You^[5] get two enormous Poland Springs water bottles, I try to find sleep masks^[6] but the cashier says they don’t have them. After that Mexican place, neither of us have appetites so we head back out into the bustle. The people come in waves with arriving trains and we are moving against the current.^[7] We follow endless arrows and gate numbers through the hallways then take a steep escalator^[8] up, up, up,^[9] you in front, me behind.

We reach open air. In L.A. it’s nice even in December. Each bus stop is lit up with its destination on an electric sign. We find ours, a few people are already waiting. I am curious to see what sort of people take a greyhound^[10] on new years but they all seem pretty normal. A woman wearing several jackets staggers between the small crowd with a backpack that’s bigger than her. She’s trying to get someone to buy her a ticket. “Shit man, I need to get out of town tonight!” she cries.

Her face looks a little melted^[11] and everyone tries to ignore her. Eventually the bus pulls in and our driver comes out to briefly explain the rules of the bus. As she’s talking the woman with the melted face tries to sneak on. Our driver notices and kicks her out.^[12]

On the bus we take off our shoes and curl into each other to try to sleep. The bumps of the road are no gentle rocking^[13] but we manage eventually. You wake me^[14] with the pop of the cork off our stolen wine. It’s 11:59.

Do you recall?
We shared new-years kisses
Like champagne bubbles.^[15]

^ "They" being the parents of the speaker (who is me) and his girlfriend at the time.
^ In fact there are 2 different highways routes between Los Angeles and San Fansisco: Interstate 5, which runs through central California and is direct but plain looking, and California State Route 1, which is less direct but runs along the coastline and is said to be quite beautiful. Our greyhound likely took the plainer of the two, but as it was a moonless night we could imagine we were on the scenic route.
^ At the time these events took place I was just 6 months removed from high school, and only beginning to become aware that the stigmas surrounding alcohol which were ingrained in me by my parents (my father being a sober alcoholic, my mother having been raised by an alcoholic) were not universal.
^ Given that the cardinal event of this haibun occurs at 11:59PM, “marauders” here may be read as subtle reference to the 1993 A Tribe Called Quest album, Midnight Marauders. However, while The Low End Theory was a staple of my senior year of highschool, I am not at all sure if I had listened to "Marauders" when I wrote this. At that time the bulk of my musical literacy still came from assorted top ten lists, references in web comics, and occasional folk-punk recommendations from my friend Tom. An investigation of my Spotify history from this time was inconclusive.
^ While here the text is revealed to be a direct address to the speaker’s girlfriend, to my memory I never showed her this poem. In fact I never showed her any of the poetry I wrote about her.
^ These days I wear a sleep mask religiously, whether traveling or at home. It all began a year and a half ago when the blinds of my east-facing window broke. The sun’s rising woke me too early each morning and the sleep mask was a temporary fix. As I began wearing my sleep mask to bed, I became increasingly sensitive to all forms of ambient light, until I could no longer fall asleep without it. I have always had difficulty falling asleep, especially in new places, but my sleep mask, wrapped around my face, became a source of comfort—not unlike a security blanket, I imagine. I began tucking it into my backpack each morning, just in case I found myself spending the night elsewhere. Inevitably I lost it, and in the sleepless nights which followed as I waited for its replacement to arrive in the mail, I tied all manner bandanas, towels, t-shirts, sheets, and boxer briefs around my eyes. My increased dependence on a sleep mask has begun to give me the same directionless anxiety as any depence on an object outside my body is likely to evoke. However, I hope that my continued reliance on, and indeed celebration of, my sleep mask will serve in some small way to dismantle my subconscious bodily essentialism which has insidious effects on my own health as well as my perception of the “wholeness” of others. If you are interested in trying one yourself, I recommend the BEAR®—from the Wirecutter review: though the “Bear” puts a slight amount of pressure on you eyes, its silken exterior material, flat design, and adjustable strap make it a fit for almost any face.
^ When I was little I had two recurring dreams which involved my death and the death of my family. The first involved ninja assasins and is not pertinent to this passage. The second was of a rapid flood. I would float out of my bed and up to the ceiling, where my last breathing moments were intercut with visions of my parents and sister dying.
^ When I was 4 or 5 I my pant leg got caught in a Macy’s escalator and I tumbled all the way down it. I am not sure if I actually remember this incident or if I have constructed a memory from my mom’s retelling, but I didn’t ride another escalator until years later.
^ See reference 7.
^ I am fairly sure it was actually a [[Megabus (North America) |Megabus]]. What's unclear is why I lied about that.
^ This is the one part of the haibun which I am truly embarrassed of writing.
^ What is interesting about this episode is that the driver was surprisingly calm when escorting the woman off the bus. But when our would-be stow-away cursed under her breath, the driver started hollering like you wouldn’t believe.
^ This is an artistic liberty, really the highway was well maintained.
^ Another liberty, I never quite fell asleep that night.
^ What’s regrettable here is not saccharin earnestness but the extremely shallow simile.

[1] "They" being the parents of the speaker (who is me) and his girlfriend at the time.

[2] In fact there are 2 different highways routes between Los Angeles and San Fansisco: Interstate 5, which runs through central California and is direct but plain looking, and California State Route 1, which is less direct but runs along the coastline and is said to be quite beautiful. Our greyhound likely took the plainer of the two, but as it was a moonless night we could imagine we were on the scenic route.

[3] At the time these events took place I was just 6 months removed from high school, and only beginning to become aware that the stigmas surrounding alcohol which were ingrained in me by my parents (my father being a sober alcoholic, my mother having been raised by an alcoholic) were not universal.

[4] Given that the cardinal event of this haibun occurs at 11:59PM, “marauders” here may be read as subtle reference to the 1993 A Tribe Called Quest album, Midnight Marauders. However, while The Low End Theory was a staple of my senior year of highschool, I am not at all sure if I had listened to "Marauders" when I wrote this. At that time the bulk of my musical literacy still came from assorted top ten lists, references in web comics, and occasional folk-punk recommendations from my friend Tom. An investigation of my Spotify history from this time was inconclusive.

[5] While here the text is revealed to be a direct address to the speaker’s girlfriend, to my memory I never showed her this poem. In fact I never showed her any of the poetry I wrote about her.

[6] These days I wear a sleep mask religiously, whether traveling or at home. It all began a year and a half ago when the blinds of my east-facing window broke. The sun’s rising woke me too early each morning and the sleep mask was a temporary fix. As I began wearing my sleep mask to bed, I became increasingly sensitive to all forms of ambient light, until I could no longer fall asleep without it. I have always had difficulty falling asleep, especially in new places, but my sleep mask, wrapped around my face, became a source of comfort—not unlike a security blanket, I imagine. I began tucking it into my backpack each morning, just in case I found myself spending the night elsewhere. Inevitably I lost it, and in the sleepless nights which followed as I waited for its replacement to arrive in the mail, I tied all manner bandanas, towels, t-shirts, sheets, and boxer briefs around my eyes. My increased dependence on a sleep mask has begun to give me the same directionless anxiety as any depence on an object outside my body is likely to evoke. However, I hope that my continued reliance on, and indeed celebration of, my sleep mask will serve in some small way to dismantle my subconscious bodily essentialism which has insidious effects on my own health as well as my perception of the “wholeness” of others. If you are interested in trying one yourself, I recommend the BEAR®—from the Wirecutter review: though the “Bear” puts a slight amount of pressure on you eyes, its silken exterior material, flat design, and adjustable strap make it a fit for almost any face.

[7] When I was little I had two recurring dreams which involved my death and the death of my family. The first involved ninja assasins and is not pertinent to this passage. The second was of a rapid flood. I would float out of my bed and up to the ceiling, where my last breathing moments were intercut with visions of my parents and sister dying.

[8] When I was 4 or 5 I my pant leg got caught in a Macy’s escalator and I tumbled all the way down it. I am not sure if I actually remember this incident or if I have constructed a memory from my mom’s retelling, but I didn’t ride another escalator until years later.

[9] See reference 7.

[10] I am fairly sure it was actually a [[Megabus (North America) |Megabus]]. What's unclear is why I lied about that.

[11] This is the one part of the haibun which I am truly embarrassed of writing.

[12] What is interesting about this episode is that the driver was surprisingly calm when escorting the woman off the bus. But when our would-be stow-away cursed under her breath, the driver started hollering like you wouldn’t believe.

[13] This is an artistic liberty, really the highway was well maintained.

[14] Another liberty, I never quite fell asleep that night.

[15] What’s regrettable here is not saccharin earnestness but the extremely shallow simile.

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[3]

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@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 {{User sandbox}}
 <!-- EDIT BELOW THIS LINE -->
 ==December 31st==
+<span style="color:rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);
-They<ref>"They" being our parents, hers and mine.</ref> say the highways between L.A. and San Francisco are breathtaking<ref>In fact there are 2 different highways routes between Los Angeles and San Fansisco: [[Interstate 5 in California|Interstate 5]], which runs through central California and is direct but plain looking, and [[California State Route 1]], which is less direct but runs along the coastline and is said to be quite beautiful. Our greyhound almost certainly took the more direct of the two, but as it was a moonless night we could imagine we were on the scenic route.</ref> but we never saw them.  7 pm at the train station and the whole world’s wasted. We hold hands through beating crowds of marauders, make our way to the travel shop. You get two enormous Poland Springs water bottles, I try to find sleep masks but the cashier says they don’t have them. After that Mexican place, neither of us have appetites so we head back out into the bustle. The people come in waves with arriving trains and we are moving against the current. We follow endless arrows and gate numbers through the hallways then take a steep escalator up, up, up, you in front, me behind.
+    -webkit-touch-callout: none;
+    -webkit-user-select: none;
+    -khtml-user-select: none;
+    -moz-user-select: none;
+    -ms-user-select: none;
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+They<ref>"They" being the parents of the speaker (who is me) and his girlfriend at the time.</ref> say the highways between L.A. and San Francisco are breathtaking<ref>In fact there are 2 different highways routes between Los Angeles and San Fansisco: [[Interstate 5 in California|Interstate 5]], which runs through central California and is direct but plain looking, and [[California State Route 1]], which is less direct but runs along the coastline and is said to be quite beautiful. Our greyhound likely took the plainer of the two, but as it was a moonless night we could imagine we were on the scenic route.</ref> but we never saw them.  7 pm at the train station and the whole world’s wasted.<ref>At the time these events took place I was just 6 months removed from high school, and only beginning to become aware that the stigmas surrounding alcohol which were ingrained in me by my parents (my father being a sober [[Alcoholics Anonymous|alcoholic]], my mother having been [[Al-Anon/Alateen|raised by an alcoholic]]) were not universal.</ref> We hold hands through beating crowds of marauders<ref>Given that the cardinal event of this haibun occurs at 11:59PM, “marauders” here may be read as subtle reference to the 1993 A Tribe Called Quest album, [[Midnight Marauders]]. However, while [[The Low End Theory]] was a staple of my senior year of highschool, I am not at all sure if I had listened to "Marauders" when I wrote this. At that time the bulk of my musical literacy still came from assorted top ten lists, references in web comics, and occasional folk-punk recommendations from my friend Tom. An investigation of my Spotify history from this time was inconclusive. </ref>, make our way to the travel shop. You<ref>While here the text is revealed to be a direct address to the speaker’s girlfriend, to my memory I never showed her this poem. In fact I never showed her any of the poetry I wrote about her.</ref> get two enormous Poland Springs water bottles, I try to find sleep masks<ref>These days I wear a sleep mask religiously, whether traveling or at home. It all began a year and a half ago when the blinds of my east-facing window broke. The sun’s rising woke me too early each morning and the sleep mask was a temporary fix. As I began wearing my sleep mask to bed, I became increasingly sensitive to all forms of ambient light, until I could no longer fall asleep without it. I have always had difficulty falling asleep, especially in new places, but my sleep mask, wrapped around my face, became a source of comfort—not unlike a security blanket, I imagine.
+I began tucking it into my backpack each morning, just in case I found myself spending the night elsewhere. Inevitably I lost it, and in the sleepless nights which followed as I waited for its replacement to arrive in the mail, I tied all manner bandanas, towels, t-shirts, sheets, and boxer briefs around my eyes.
+My increased dependence on a sleep mask has begun to give me the same directionless anxiety as any depence on an object outside my body is likely to evoke. However, I hope that my continued reliance on, and indeed celebration of, my sleep mask will serve in some small way to dismantle my subconscious bodily essentialism which has insidious effects on my own health as well as my perception of the “wholeness” of others. If you are interested in trying one yourself, I recommend the [https://thewirecutter.com/reviews/best-sleep-mask/|ALASKA BEAR®]—from the [[Wirecutter]] review: though the “Bear” puts a slight amount of pressure on you eyes, its silken exterior material, flat design, and adjustable strap make it a fit for almost any face.
+</ref> but the cashier says they don’t have them. After that Mexican place, neither of us have appetites so we head back out into the bustle. The people come in waves with arriving trains and we are moving against the current.<ref>When I was little I had two recurring dreams which involved my death and the death of my family. The first involved ninja assasins and is not pertinent to this passage. The second was of a rapid flood. I would float out of my bed and up to the ceiling, where my last breathing moments were intercut with visions of my parents and sister dying.
+</ref> We follow endless arrows and gate numbers through the hallways then take a steep escalator<ref>When I was 4 or 5 I my pant leg got caught in a Macy’s escalator and I tumbled all the way down it. I am not sure if I actually remember this incident or if I have constructed a memory from my mom’s retelling, but I didn’t ride another escalator until years later.</ref> up, up, up,<ref>See reference 7.</ref> you in front, me behind.
-We reach open air. In L.A. it’s nice even in December. Each bus stop is lit up with its destination on an electric sign. We find ours, a few people are already waiting. I am curious to see what sort of people take a greyhound on new years but they all seem pretty normal. A woman wearing several jackets staggers between the small crowd with a backpack that’s bigger than her. She’s trying to get someone to buy her a ticket.
+We reach open air. In L.A. it’s nice even in December. Each bus stop is lit up with its destination on an electric sign. We find ours, a few people are already waiting. I am curious to see what sort of people take a greyhound<ref>I am fairly sure it was actually a [[Megabus (North America)
+|Megabus]]. What's unclear is why I lied about that.</ref> on new years but they all seem pretty normal. A woman wearing several jackets staggers between the small crowd with a backpack that’s bigger than her. She’s trying to get someone to buy her a ticket.
 “Shit man, I need to get out of town tonight!” she cries.
-Her face looks a little melted and everyone tries to ignore her. Eventually the bus pulls in and our driver comes out to briefly explain the rules of the bus. As she’s talking the woman with the melted face tries to sneak on. Our driver notices and kicks her out.
+Her face looks a little melted<ref> This is the one part of the haibun which I am truly embarrassed of writing.</ref> and everyone tries to ignore her. Eventually the bus pulls in and our driver comes out to briefly explain the rules of the bus. As she’s talking the woman with the melted face tries to sneak on. Our driver notices and kicks her out.<ref>What is interesting about this episode is that the driver was surprisingly calm when escorting the woman off the bus. But when our would-be stow-away cursed under her breath, the driver started hollering like you wouldn’t believe.
+</ref>
-On the bus we take off our shoes and curl into each other to try to sleep. The bumps of the road are no gentle rocking but we manage eventually.
-You wake me with the pop of the cork off our stolen wine. It’s 11:59.
+On the bus we take off our shoes and curl into each other to try to sleep. The bumps of the road are no gentle rocking<ref>This is an artistic liberty, really the highway was well maintained.</ref> but we manage eventually.
+You wake me<ref>Another liberty, I never quite fell asleep that night.</ref> with the pop of the cork off our stolen wine. It’s 11:59.
 <poem>
 Do you recall?
 We shared new-years kisses
+Like champagne bubbles.<ref>What’s regrettable here is not saccharin earnestness but the extremely shallow simile.
-Like champagne bubbles.
+</ref>
 </poem>
+</span>