O is tired, and the meeting isn't stopping. Her eyelids hang heavily on the corneas, and her head has fallen to one side. Her head is being held up by sheer will; her neck is made of rubber. The droning of air conditioning and the voices and the heat are dragging her down. She has four more hours of work to do, and fill out her time report, and find her husband's mother a wedding gift. A wedding gift! Of all things. She rests her chin on her palm, and tunes back into the meeting. Financials. So she ever so lightly digs her nails into her cheek.