I've noticed that I'm not the only person out there looking haggard and worn this week. I've been staying up late, just like everyone else, watching the Olympics.
I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.
But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in.
I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of underage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.
But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.
Walking!
I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.
What the hell?
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