I can't sleep. I can't sleep and it makes me mad. I've been sleeping good recently…well good enough since Denny I guess. But this is a whole different kind of not being able to sleep. I can toss, I can turn, but oh no my friends I can not sleep. And great, now I'm rambling in my head saying things like Meredith. I could bake. Wonderful things made of chocolate and flour and goodness. But then I'll make a mess, and miss pre-rounds because I'll be so tired. But at least I'll be able to sleep. I remember leaving some dough for bread in the fridge…
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I'm loud and I know it. It's officially 3 am and I am slamming a harmless piece of dough that really did nothing to me on the counter again and again. I'm kneading it, right? Kneading, cause that's not as bad as beating the hell out of it, which is really what I'm doing.
I just – god, NO, I don't even want to think about him! I don't! And I won't! Ha, that'll show that arrogant ass. I mean, who does he think he is?! I am Izzie Stevens. I bake, and I'm nice, and I'm a good doctor.
He's – he's arrogant and insufferable and demand and rude and arrogant. Oh god I already said arrogant. I am Izzie Stevens! I like Christmas for christs sake! And here I am in my kitchen beating the hell out of some poor dough rambling angsty thoughts that are worthy of Meredith, not me.
I have to stop this. I have to. I will forget him, I will go lay in bed with George and forget all about him.
Until morning, at least.