"Sleep when you're dead." That was my mantra on Tuesday night as we sat in the San Diego airport following a 3-day trip to Sydney with an itinerary that had bordered on masochistic. We were not supposed to be in San Diego; our crazy plan had us touching down in Washington D.C. by now, with the expectation that I'd be dutifully back at my desk Wednesday morning. Instead, a mechanical mishap had re-routed us from San Francisco to San Diego after a six hour delay (following the 15 hour flight from Sydney). We waited for our red-eye to D.C., nibbling a popcorn ball and alternating between contagious fits of laughter and uncontrollable yawning. There's a strange bliss that comes with total exhaustion. I kinda dig it.