Exhaustion

The calendar says: Return 6 a.m. under Wednesday, February 4. That would mean that my parents should be back from their trip to Hawaii by now, but they aren't. Even allowing for five hours of flight, and another five for the time difference, the latest they should have been back was 5 p.m. The cell phone isn't being answered. They haven't called. On the bright side, I checked planecrashinfo.com and it said that the latest crash was on January 17, somewhere in Ontario. Stress.

I have thirty pages of American History to take notes on, but haven't yet and probably won't finish. I got home, had a small meal to sate my lunch-less tummy, and read the chapter before whisking off to the three-hour training session for Big Brothers Big Sisters. (Side note: There was this really cute guy there too--Antonio...) I came home at seven, passed my high school, felt a pang of guilt that I wasn't there watching my real brother play saxophone in the Jazz band, and figured that Mom and Dad had gotten home and went to see him, so he wouldn't be all alone. I got home. Grandma was there. "Why aren't you at Keegan's band thing with Mom and Dad?" quoth I.

"Well..."

So we hopped in the car and drove back over to the high school. As luck would have it, we missed his solo, but through clever lying and sneakiness we have so far managed to fool him into thinking we were there. I feel terrible, like such a failure as a sibling. The concert dragged on and on, even though the high school jazz band was pretty good, and now I am home and too exhausted to do anything.

I hope Mom wrote the return time on the wrong calendar square. I really do.