To sleep, perchance to sleep.

So tired. So drained. So lacking the visceral urge to do anything.

The Olympic torch passed by my office last night. I watched from the window and grew impatient because the preceding motorcade created unwarranted anticipation. There were motorcycle police driving slowly down Wilshire Boulevard a good thirty minutes before anyone in a jogging suit happened by.

I did not go down to the curb and wave. I did not cheer. And I was careful not to touch my face to the window lest it leave a mark.