I'm not counting down 1grace_fullyApril 27 2010, 22:37:14 UTC
jfc THIS GOT LONG.
Jared's 7:30am starts at 7:45, and comes to fruition in front of the coffee machine. Once he's got it brewing he stands there, takes deep breaths, and ticks off a mental list of things he's not doing: checking emails, checking his mailbox, checking his message board, writing the daily appointment calendar, reviewing faxes that came in last night.
Yes. All downhill from here.
He greets Kristen, a fellow assistant who's usually lapped him by about 9am in terms of workload. This morning she's focused and alert in a long blonde ponytail and black pencil skirt, probably already on item four of her to-do list. She stops long enough to chip off a Hey, Jared! before filling her mug and heading back to her desk.
Jared leans his head against the wall cabinet and closes his eyes, hoping the smell of ground, shade-grown, organic coffee beans will be enough to get him through to lunch.
"There you are."
Jared jumps to attention, disoriented, and instantly feels a flush curling over his chest. Caught.
"I wasn't sleeping," he says.
Misha, the clinician he coordinates for, tilts his head with a doubting smirk. He says nothing of it, continuing with business: "The director just told me she wants our inpatient beds filled for the weekend. Can you call these crisis teams, see if anyone needs placement? I mean. When you're ready."
"I made coffee. You're early," Jared replies.
(And sometimes, when Misha's around, the best Jared can do is say his thoughts as they come to him.)
"Had my wheaties," Misha grins.
He hesitates at the door then for a moment, mouth forming some change of subject, before he abruptly pushes off the door frame and heads for his office.
Jared exhales shakily, feeling the tension dissipate instantly. He pulls down his mug, makes a cup of coffee, and follows Misha out to start the day.
At his desk, checking over the boards and communication log, he begins writing up Misha's appointments on the whiteboard between Jared's desk and the door to Misha's office. As he writes, he feels concern mounting at the back of his mind. Bites down on saying anything, determined to just keep his nose out where it doesn't belong.
By the time he gets to 11:30 on the board, he can't hold it in anymore. Capping the dry erase marker, he hovers in momentary indecision before sticking his head in Misha's office.
Jared's 7:30am starts at 7:45, and comes to fruition in front of the coffee machine. Once he's got it brewing he stands there, takes deep breaths, and ticks off a mental list of things he's not doing: checking emails, checking his mailbox, checking his message board, writing the daily appointment calendar, reviewing faxes that came in last night.
Yes. All downhill from here.
He greets Kristen, a fellow assistant who's usually lapped him by about 9am in terms of workload. This morning she's focused and alert in a long blonde ponytail and black pencil skirt, probably already on item four of her to-do list. She stops long enough to chip off a Hey, Jared! before filling her mug and heading back to her desk.
Jared leans his head against the wall cabinet and closes his eyes, hoping the smell of ground, shade-grown, organic coffee beans will be enough to get him through to lunch.
"There you are."
Jared jumps to attention, disoriented, and instantly feels a flush curling over his chest. Caught.
"I wasn't sleeping," he says.
Misha, the clinician he coordinates for, tilts his head with a doubting smirk. He says nothing of it, continuing with business: "The director just told me she wants our inpatient beds filled for the weekend. Can you call these crisis teams, see if anyone needs placement? I mean. When you're ready."
"I made coffee. You're early," Jared replies.
(And sometimes, when Misha's around, the best Jared can do is say his thoughts as they come to him.)
"Had my wheaties," Misha grins.
He hesitates at the door then for a moment, mouth forming some change of subject, before he abruptly pushes off the door frame and heads for his office.
Jared exhales shakily, feeling the tension dissipate instantly. He pulls down his mug, makes a cup of coffee, and follows Misha out to start the day.
At his desk, checking over the boards and communication log, he begins writing up Misha's appointments on the whiteboard between Jared's desk and the door to Misha's office. As he writes, he feels concern mounting at the back of his mind. Bites down on saying anything, determined to just keep his nose out where it doesn't belong.
By the time he gets to 11:30 on the board, he can't hold it in anymore. Capping the dry erase marker, he hovers in momentary indecision before sticking his head in Misha's office.
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