InsaneJournal

While the morning had been kind of busy (one case, lots of journal writing, and a brave Lexie nesting in a back closet); Lexie knew that nothing she had dealt with medically here could really compare to her experiences at Seattle Grace. Though, nothing she had dealt with here really compared to anything else at SGH. Back home people didn't die unless they were patients. People didn't get abducted. People didn't act insane unless someone needed to order a psych consult. In all honesty, Lexie was starting to feel like she needed a psych consult.

Opening up a questionable bottle of rubbing alcohol, Lexie set her attention to wiping down the exam area. It was a routine task, and something that needed to happen to keep the place sanitary. While she would have never had to do it back home, finding herself in the nitty gritty was a glorious distraction for the surgeon. "Last night I dreamed of San Pedro," she sang quietly, the towel she was wiping with staying nice and white, which was exactly what she wanted.

"La Isla Bonita," she continued, words failing in places not because she didn't know them but because she kept distracting herself. She was thinking of how completely wrong it was for her to refuse to make 'house calls' Then there was the whole thing with Dean. Why was he asking about her freckles, anyway? That was weird. Really weird. Chewing her lip she turned her attention to the other would-be exam table, wiping it down just as carefully.