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Episode of House and discussion thereof before bed +
Cramps that get really, really bad overnight =
Weird dream about a cranky, shouting doctor diagnosing me with some sort of persistent food poisoning infection that cannot be cleared up and will recur randomly at intervals forever, like malaria. Waking up to something that will probably recur every month for the next thirty years? Not actually a relief. Although at least no one's shouting at me about it.
A few randomly babbled reactions:
Chase, if you had anything to do with it I swear to God I will hold you down while House beats you to death with his cane. Or, rather, stands over you considering beating you to death with his cane and then turns and walks away, because you're just not worth the sore shoulder, you sneaky blond acter-out-of-daddy-issues. OTOH, I hope he kills that guy who's going to slap you next week. You might be a crappy, traitorous duckling, but you're his crappy, traitorous duckling. And still adorable, curse you. Also, how terribly poor little rich boy is it to be going on a skiing holiday alone?
Cameron, I kind of wanted to smack you until you were talking to House in the hallway and I noticed that you look tired and kind of desperate for someone to like you and sick to death of being one of the boys in diagnostic medicine. Not that you've ever really tried to be one of the boys (hint: boys button their shirts higher than that) but I know what you mean. I think what you need is a girlfriend who calls you Cam and feeds you pie at moments like this, and I am volunteering to be that friend. Come sit on my couch, and we can talk about how we both have crushes on your boss and his friend the head of Oncology. I'll tell you about my crush on Chase, and you can just eat pie and refuse to dignify it with a response. Or, if the pie is accompanied by drinks, you could make fun of his not knowing right from left. I would be on board with that even if HIPAA forbade you from explaining to me how you know.
House, I bet you could commit the perfect murder if you really put your mind to it. Just saying. Might solve some problems. Wilson totally wouldn't tell.
Cramps that get really, really bad overnight =
Weird dream about a cranky, shouting doctor diagnosing me with some sort of persistent food poisoning infection that cannot be cleared up and will recur randomly at intervals forever, like malaria. Waking up to something that will probably recur every month for the next thirty years? Not actually a relief. Although at least no one's shouting at me about it.
A few randomly babbled reactions:
Chase, if you had anything to do with it I swear to God I will hold you down while House beats you to death with his cane. Or, rather, stands over you considering beating you to death with his cane and then turns and walks away, because you're just not worth the sore shoulder, you sneaky blond acter-out-of-daddy-issues. OTOH, I hope he kills that guy who's going to slap you next week. You might be a crappy, traitorous duckling, but you're his crappy, traitorous duckling. And still adorable, curse you. Also, how terribly poor little rich boy is it to be going on a skiing holiday alone?
Cameron, I kind of wanted to smack you until you were talking to House in the hallway and I noticed that you look tired and kind of desperate for someone to like you and sick to death of being one of the boys in diagnostic medicine. Not that you've ever really tried to be one of the boys (hint: boys button their shirts higher than that) but I know what you mean. I think what you need is a girlfriend who calls you Cam and feeds you pie at moments like this, and I am volunteering to be that friend. Come sit on my couch, and we can talk about how we both have crushes on your boss and his friend the head of Oncology. I'll tell you about my crush on Chase, and you can just eat pie and refuse to dignify it with a response. Or, if the pie is accompanied by drinks, you could make fun of his not knowing right from left. I would be on board with that even if HIPAA forbade you from explaining to me how you know.
House, I bet you could commit the perfect murder if you really put your mind to it. Just saying. Might solve some problems. Wilson totally wouldn't tell.