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new job treat to myself
I have an iPhone! It has a sleek purple cover and needs a) a name, and b) some APPS. Rec me apps, people who believe in smartphones.
Work continues utterly mad. I never like waking up in the morning, but at least I'm never bored. I never think 'ugh, 5pm can't come soon enough'. I think 'oh god HOW IS IT THREE ALREADY oh well I'll just stay until seven again'. It'd be okay if I were actually being paid for the 11-hour days I'm currently working, but you're not supposed to claim your overtime during medical terms because you're meant to be ORGANISED ENOUGH TO LEAVE ON TIME ha ha ha hollow laughter.
I get home and collapse on the couch with red wine and bitch to my parents. And then I catch up on the billions of shiny things that tumblr has produced during the day, and then I read some of Virginia Woolf's diary, and sometimes I write.
~
"If you're sure," she says, "we need blood."
Half of his mouth tugs briefly. "Blood specific, or blood general? I assume you mean mine."
She nods. He knows her workspace well by now; he knows where the sterile scalpels are, and he fetches one with no fuss.
"How much?" Sherlock says, and although he looks as calm as ever his voice is a shipwreck on the first word, broken and grinding against rocks.
Molly opens her palm between them and concentrates. The skin splits down a thin line, no more than a graze, and blood wells to the surface.
"Like that," she says, as gently as she can.
~
Ancient-goddess Molly Hooper, AW YEAH.
Work continues utterly mad. I never like waking up in the morning, but at least I'm never bored. I never think 'ugh, 5pm can't come soon enough'. I think 'oh god HOW IS IT THREE ALREADY oh well I'll just stay until seven again'. It'd be okay if I were actually being paid for the 11-hour days I'm currently working, but you're not supposed to claim your overtime during medical terms because you're meant to be ORGANISED ENOUGH TO LEAVE ON TIME ha ha ha hollow laughter.
I get home and collapse on the couch with red wine and bitch to my parents. And then I catch up on the billions of shiny things that tumblr has produced during the day, and then I read some of Virginia Woolf's diary, and sometimes I write.
~
"If you're sure," she says, "we need blood."
Half of his mouth tugs briefly. "Blood specific, or blood general? I assume you mean mine."
She nods. He knows her workspace well by now; he knows where the sterile scalpels are, and he fetches one with no fuss.
"How much?" Sherlock says, and although he looks as calm as ever his voice is a shipwreck on the first word, broken and grinding against rocks.
Molly opens her palm between them and concentrates. The skin splits down a thin line, no more than a graze, and blood wells to the surface.
"Like that," she says, as gently as she can.
~
Ancient-goddess Molly Hooper, AW YEAH.
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Apparently surgical terms are a lot better about letting you claim. I mean, officially we are TOLD to claim all of our overtime, but in reality almost none of the bosses will sign your form to approve it.
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It is a good thing I am already lying sprawled on a couch, because you write these sorts of phrases and I just want to throw myself down dramatically somewhere and wail about how you have THE MOST INCREDIBLE TURNS OF PHRASE.
Ohhh Fahye I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to ancient-goddess Molly Hooper.
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*_____________________________*
Fahye, you have the very best ideas.
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*DIES*
And yay for loving your work!