Pseudotumor cerebri. Well, it wasn't exactly groundbreaking or interesting in any way, but it did provide House with something to think about other than his roommate's increasing need to rhyme House's name with everything he could think of.

He tossed the little green ball in his hand a few times. "Aww, crappy meninges. Okay, so she's about 25, no kids? If her symptoms are getting worse, she's probably a big fat fatty by now. Get her to actually stay on a regimented diet - that means no cheating and heading to Krispy Kreme for a late night dozen. Then let her keep popping pills and tell her to have a nice short life."

House threw the ball a little too hard and missed the catch, sending it bouncing everywhere, knocking over files and books and earning House a very stern look from his favorite orderly. He just grinned and shrugged.