Mumble mumble mumble...

Angel rolls over in bed this morning. "What time is it?" I pick up the alarm clock. "Mmmh. 8:30." Beat. "Fuck." Note that class begins at 8:30. I had to wait for him, because he's my ride, and Angel's just not quite as good at getting ready to go in a hurry as I am. At least he wasn't as slow as usual. I can get my shower done and be putting my contacts in by the time he's ready to take a shower on a normal morning. Why I insist on him showering first is a mystery. Probably because I'm lazy. I got there in time for the Spock jokes. There's a disease (whose name I've promptly forgotten) that affects only smokers, which involves a constriction of small vessels, necrosis, and winds up in the fingers falling off. And Dr. Smith made a crack about elves and hobbits and Spock, and how Bones was just apoplectic, and they had to do ear reconstructive surgery..."Dammit, Jim..." Next up: respiratory medicine. Oh, how I loathe this life of vile servitude.