I've been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy. Streaming season after season on Netflix, as a coping mechanism. As a time filler. As "senioritis." I dream in scrubs and emergencies. Whatever the symptoms, the diagnosis, one thing is clear: Knowing the inner-workings of Dr. McDreamy does not make me a doctor myself. I don't even play one on TV (but I could ask for a scalpel, with incredibly gusto, if asked)! To open myself up, I wouldn't even know where to begin.
This is Me:
My name's Melissa. I'm the girl with her hands in her journal.