Jeff Miller -- too tired for this

I’m so tired.

I’m too tired to be writing this thing, that’s for sure. I don’t even know what to say. It’s not like I’ve ever kept a journal or anything before. That’s Sis’s kind of thing—she’s the writer, she’s the geek of the family. Who’s got the time to write about their day, anyway? I sure never have.

I guess that’s about to change, though.

God, I’m tired. I’ve just spent a full day on the Greyhound getting out here. Longer. I kinda lost track of time. First the drive down to Portland, then the bus to Detroit. Portland to Detroit . . . wow. I never thought it was going to end. I mean, this is the furthest I’ve ever been from home and I thought the trip would be all exciting, but after awhile the scenery just becomes one big bright green and blue blur, then a dark blur, and then it just starts fading in and out as you drift in and out of sleep. I’ve got this kink in my neck like you wouldn’t believe. Chatted with a couple of different people for a bit who stayed back in Detroit, and that killed a bit of time, but . . . yeah. Brutal trip.

After the long haul, this final hop kind of flew by. Have to say this place wasn’t quite what I was expecting. It’s a bit run down and all, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised . . . it’s not like Pop’s had loads of cash to blow on this gift or anything.

So, yeah, I finally get here and all I want to do is crash and catch some sleep, but instead I find out there’s already another guy here. Arthur. Seems like a nice enough guy. Bit scruffy looking. Says he’s a writer covering the beer festival, and so he’s asked me to write about why I’m here staying at this funky old inn instead of nearer the party like the other kids. I hate it when adults call me a kid. I sure as hell don’t feel like a kid. Never have. Thing is, Arthur’s offered to buy the beer and God knows I need to save cash, what with college and all coming up.

So he wants me to write about the festival this weekend and how I love beer and stuff like that. He also says I should probably introduce myself or something. Fine. I’m Jeff. But right now, all I can think about is sleep.

That’s not true. All I can think about is home. About Pop and Sis and my Bros, and what they’re gonna do without me and if they’ll forgive me for taking off like this, and I’ve gotta say that beer’s the last thing on my mind.

Screw this. I’m crashing.