Fucking hell am I tired. Weary, bone-aching tired.

I always imagined myself an adventurer. Some day, when I was all growed up, I would take to the skies and the oceans and the roads and paths and wander freely discovering the big, blue marble and its occupants. Or some other fairy tale bullshit. Some kind of dream, some kind of fantasy world traveling thrills and chills.

But, I fucking hate the tired. I hate the time zone changes. Hotel beds and sleepless nights in uncomfortable unknown spaces.

Of course, it could just be that all I got to fucking see was the inside of some office space and the streets around DuPont Circle. I’m in the U.S. of A’s monument central and I didn’t even see a real skyline. No phallic obelisks or giant stones honoring war and leaders and the American dream.

In short, business travel sucks. I mean you get to go places, but then you work.

Sightseeing-wise I got to see the National Geographic Society’s HQ with an insider’s tour. I got to see a cool documentary. I got to see a state rep from the state of California remind me of why people hate politicians. And, I had a couple of cocktails on an expense account.

Whoop-de-fucking-do.