(no subject)
God damn it, Dr. Cox needed his own hut.
As his eyes slid over supply lists and patient's names, this is what he was thinking, over and over. Living college-style was absolutely ridiculous, and he'd hated it in college, so he hated it even more, now. Not to mention his roommate or bunkmate or whatever was a stark raving psycho and not in that fun, frat party kind of way. Anyway, the fact that he had a roommate was irritating because he couldn't walk around naked and flex or just relax without someone doing something absolutely annoying, like being there. Dr. Cox lived alone, and that was the way it was. Hell, he'd have put Jordan in a different room while they were married if it hadn't meant getting a different apartment. He'd loved his, one bedroom little minx. If it was a woman, he'd have gladly shown it a good time and never called it again. Or maybe even carry out an unhealthy relationship with it.
Rather than be in that ridiculously little room with that ridiculously wacko painter, Dr. Cox arrived to the clinic just a bit early, sat at the center table with a cup of coffee and a copy of the August 31st, 2008 paper. It was close enough to the IPD office -- maybe they'd have something interesting going on.
[Sunday afternoon clinic post. Timed to this afternoon, clearly.]
As his eyes slid over supply lists and patient's names, this is what he was thinking, over and over. Living college-style was absolutely ridiculous, and he'd hated it in college, so he hated it even more, now. Not to mention his roommate or bunkmate or whatever was a stark raving psycho and not in that fun, frat party kind of way. Anyway, the fact that he had a roommate was irritating because he couldn't walk around naked and flex or just relax without someone doing something absolutely annoying, like being there. Dr. Cox lived alone, and that was the way it was. Hell, he'd have put Jordan in a different room while they were married if it hadn't meant getting a different apartment. He'd loved his, one bedroom little minx. If it was a woman, he'd have gladly shown it a good time and never called it again. Or maybe even carry out an unhealthy relationship with it.
Rather than be in that ridiculously little room with that ridiculously wacko painter, Dr. Cox arrived to the clinic just a bit early, sat at the center table with a cup of coffee and a copy of the August 31st, 2008 paper. It was close enough to the IPD office -- maybe they'd have something interesting going on.
[Sunday afternoon clinic post. Timed to this afternoon, clearly.]