FTEC Tuesday March 3

Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009 03:34 pm
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley didn't know the names of everyone of certain people she needed for her paperwork, so she made them up.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Today, Harley was doing an experiment to see if she could drink 30 cups of coffee before the caffeine drove her insane.

Either way, she won.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was writing a letter. But every time she got a few sentences in, she tossed it in the already-full wastebasket. It wasn't like she could send it, anyway, and she was a bit late for Valentine's Day.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was a little mopey as she worked today.

Valentine's Day? Phooey.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley's morning coffee was a little extended today. She'd left late for work, so she had her breakfast with her as well.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was back from her little trip, and not acting suspicious at all. Not at all.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was working today.

What? She was always working. Right?
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was in the clinic for the last time.

This year, of course.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was feeling a little down. At this time of year, she and Mr. J would usually be wrapping empty presents for delivery to the orphanage, or baking cyanide pies for the old folks' home. It was only out of a very strong force of will that Harley could remind herself that these were bad activities, the type that she wasn't supposed to want to do anymore.

But what's Christmas without traditions?
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
It looked like Harley was working diligently, pouring through a medical journal. Yet the truth lay hidden, as a shopping catalog was hidden behind the pages.

'Tis the season.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was catching up on paperwork. And by catching up, we meant stacking the files on top of each other, card-house-style. It didn't do much for the clinic, but it gave Harley a sense of accomplishment.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Ironically, Harley had a bit of a cold. It probably wasn't a good idea to have a sick doctor walking around.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley had worn her old costume for Halloween. It was fun, so she wore it Saturday too, just for fun.

She had it on today. This was becoming a bad habit.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley had a big bowl of candy on the desk. She was a little early for Halloween or anything, but figured that it would help patients along on their way to recovery. Candy is, after all, the great healer.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley flipped through some anatomy textbooks she'd found lying around. It made her laugh to think that she was looking at pictures of naked men at work, and the whole thing wasn't just acceptable, but downright scholarly.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley had definitely made her coffee wrong this morning. After all, accidentally making decaf does count as making it wrong. Why she had any in her apartment was a mystery even to her. Thus, as she sat at the front desk, her head drooped a couple times, and without so much as a struggle, Harley was back asleep.

[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley was playing solitaire on the computer. There was probably something that needed to be done, and she'd get that right after one last game.

Or maybe another.

Or another.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley had had a wonderful time this past weekend, but it did leave her feeling a little anxious. She sat at the desk, reading an out-of-town paper, scanning it for traces of a familiar face.
[identity profile] missinmrj.livejournal.com
Harley bounced into the clinic, late on her first day. Maybe nobody would notice.

That is, unless they were already injured and waiting. That would be a problem.

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