I don't do mondays

Mondays are out.
They're evil.
They stink.
They're pestilent.

I bet half of the world's population would be stressed to a lesser extent if Mondays were abolished.
Should I ever gain world domination, I'll do that.
But I'm sure that there soon will be t-shirts annoucing I don't do tuesdays.

This monday's a special one. As a matter of fact, Cameron isn't here anymore. "Goodbye, House" was earnest. And for over half an hour I am awaiting the sword of Damocles above my head to come down, but no Vogler in sight or earshot.

Now I am holding on to my third cup of black coffee with sugar and even have been to the consulting room. What people are this, wearing t-shirts with a big "PLEASE" on the front and "FUCK ME!" on their back? I declined with many thanks...
My special friend, the slightly dim-witted college-student with his little brother, visited me again. Lord, please throw a big portion of brains out of the sky. And if you want, slay him with it!

Dr. Foreman was here a short while ago and asked if anything was okay because I was in the consulting room. I said I was in a bad mood and he retoted: "Really? Tell me something new!" Never mind!
I don't give a damn about it.

I didn't sleep well, but this was to be due. I even missed the "date" at Stormwind, 'cause I laid stretched on my sofa, beside me the third glass of barrique-wine listening to James Blunt.
When the phone rang, I first didn't know what happened. It was James, he wanted to know where I was.
"Hm? What do you mean with 'where are you'?"
"Forgot? Stormwind?"
"Stormwind?"
"The gaaaaaaahaaaaame...."
"Ah!...."
"Okay, I see. You're queasy about tomorrow."
"Queasy? Me? No."
"Gregory, if one person knows that this cynical scumbag is hiding a real huma being inside of him, this is me..."
"Are you talking about me?"
"Bingo! ... You know what? Come to my place."
"No way - I drowned three glasses of wine..."
"I'll come for you!"
But he already hung up and surely was on his way.

No ten minutes later I sat in his car and hardly had had the time to collect my things.
This evening I got to know a certain guild named The Oncology where Wilson's "astonishingly" a member. One member committed the fault to whisper to Wilson if the purple diviner came online today. I read that...
Wilson grinned somewhat uncomfortable and confessed that this had become a dictum for me since his colleah´gues knew I was playing there, too.
Never mind! They're right. I have a cane... But I couldn't resist to make a sniffy remark about a member called "Alecscudder".
"Such words from a guild having members named after gay literary characters!"
Wilson blushed deeply. "Ah yeeeeeeeeeeeeees", he drawled. "There's still something I wanted to tell you..."
"...?..."
"This is Allenby....And....erm...he goes for you!"
"....!...."
"I myself didn't know that until friday. He overheard our talking about cuddling and came to me totally in despair and wanted to know if there was something to it. Of course I wanted to know why he was so interested in that..."
"You're pulling my leg!"
"Nnnnno!"
"The British assistant doctor? The heart-throb?"
"Yepp!"
"Never. This is crap!"
"This is no crap. Although I whished it was."
"In private you're laughing up your sleeve!"
"Exactly..."
"Why doesn't he call himself Clive Durham? That would suit him better."
"Aaaah! Shall I tell him you think he resembles young Hugh Grant?"
Wilson grinned whimsically. I reluctantly shook my head and wanted to brush aside this new gained knowledge. I could barely handle Cameron linking me, so how should I handle that?
The world's a madhouse.
Until now, Allenby was pretty invisible to me and I realy hope that this stays that way. He confessed to James, hopefully not to me.