May. 10th, 2017 09:36 pm
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Lynelle came in early, which of course isn't a problem so much as it always feels disconcerting. I got a lot of work done in the morning, but less as the day went on. JJD came back from vacation and took an inordinately large amount of time before saying hi to me. We chatted briefly, but he was interrupted by other coworkers who wanted to hear all about his journey. He came back a while, hedging around and I was downright sitcomish in joking with him when he came in to "tell me a story."

The story, it turns out, was actually the worst thing I could imagine him telling me. He'd asked a friend to take care of his cat, Mouthy, while he was gone for a week and a half. His friend had forgotten. Completely. I'm aware that my priorities are off, but if he'd told me that he'd gone on a killing spree while in Italy, I wouldn't have been hit as hard. I gave him what advice I could, despite still flagellating myself over Mousey. Plus this isn't even something that could be chalked up to there being so many worse ways to go, as dying of thirst in your own fucking house is pretty goddamn awful. Unsurprisingly, things got worse for me as the day went on, as the water lapped over my internal levies and muddied my thoughts. I didn't really even know where I was when I finally left.

Tim emailed me in the morning to let me know that 1) he'd dropped his phone into the water and 2) his boat insurance was due today.

Much to my surprise, my apt was much cleaner than when I'd left in the morning. The trash had been taken out of the can, most things in the living room had been organized. The bathroom door was closed, and I figured that Bryan had finally heeded Tim's advice to clean up. I was somewhat pleasantly surprised to see Jeff, then, who it turns out might not have Hep C. He'd had a doctor's appt, came here to kill time, and decided the place was too messy. My living room was too messy for a meth addict.

Jeff lingered in the living room for a long time. He tried to come into my room, to say hi to Lady Miss Friday, but she gave annoyed meows when he entered the room, and Jeff is smart, so he doesn't press the issue with her. He finally left, but just then I got a text from Mason, asking about a couple of my self destructive coping mechanisms. Again, I gave what advice I could. He wants to visit me, and I guardedly want him to despite being painfully aware that he's 22.
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Woke up crazy early and wasn't able to get back to sleep. And on my way out of the house, I saw a dead mouse. Head missing, abdomen torn open. Fuck.

Despite having a ton of work, I couldn't stay focused on anything, so I barely got my work done, but didn't get ahead. Instead, I argued all day on a PinkNews story about Chechnya opening concentration camps for gay men. I suppose it's a mark of progress that no one was there defending the camps themselves, so all that's left to fight with are trolls who want to use this as an excuse to ban refugees or hate all Muslims. Chechnya is overwhelmingly Muslim. But that, of course, means the victims are also Muslim, and at least one person refused to accept the existence of LGBT Muslims. I don't understand anyone having a religion, but I don't need to. One of the other commenters tried to say I defend Muslims but attack Christianity. My commenting history is public and that's bullshit. In going back through my comments to make sure, though, I came to the conclusion that I am sassy as FUCK.

Bryan was home when I got back, watching Vampire Diaries. All night long. He did later ask if a friend could come over, and they got into some sort of argument, with the friend slamming the door as he left. LJ, which has been owned by a Russian company for a while, finally moved the servers over there, and has apparently instituted new TOS policing speech. So I started the process of moving my blog over to Dreamwidth, which uses the same code as LJ, but is open source. I even bought a year's support

Peter texted, and a couple other people, but I was so exhausted, I just jerked off rather unsatisfactorily and crashed.
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JJD and I had discussed taking more sick days on Friday, so when I was feeling completely awful on waking, I called in sick. It's not quite the second time I've called in the nearly 2 years I've been at ADI (first time I worked a half day, and had to get Tim to pick me up, because I couldn't even walk back to my car), so I'm not exactly abusing the privilege. I did feel a little bad, though, because it was our quarterly meeting. Only a little.

I loaned a friend 1k, because I'm an idiot, though he's already written the check for 4/15 when he's able to pay me back, we finally had kind of awful sex, then I gave him a ride to work. I cleaned up the apartment a little, but spent most of the day resting. It turns out I was in dire need of that, hangover aside.

Lloyd/KidSatyr, who will be my co-star later this week, got in around 5, moved his stuff in, fucked me, then went off to a client. A little worried because the chemistry we had on set the last time we met was definitely not there this time, but hoping that was just me not feeling well. I called it a night at 9:30, hoping to get plenty of rest for the next day. Unfortunately, I ended up tossing and turning all night, and my sheets reeked of dried sweat when I got up.

Today was my one year anniversary of rescuing Mousey. I know the word "rescue" is common parlance for "adopted," but I really literally did rescue him. I'd been scheduled for a photoshoot, but was feeling even more bleeding hearty than usual after reading this story ( Sexual issues aside, that's some Castaway, Wilson level loneliness, and no one who isn't on a deserted island should feel that.
About halfway through the shoot, the assistant says he can't find the snake, and the photographer tells him to put the mouse back in the cage. I'm not terribly bright, so I first thought he had both a pet mouse and a pet snake until he clarified that he was only a "pet" mouse until the snake ate him. I went back and forth in my head, but eventually came to the conclusion that I couldn't leave without the mouse. The thought of him being trapped in the cage, with the snake smell all around, until he was finally
For his part, the photographer was super cool. Gave me the mouse, in the little PetSmart "this mouse is food - not a pet - stop it, Squeak" box he came in, agreed to use frozen mice in the future. They still die, of course, because fuck you, Nature, but at least they're not being eaten alive.
Feeder mice live between 6 months & 2 years, and usually the shorter side of that, because they're so inbred. I have no idea how old Mousey was when I got him, so I had (and have) no idea how long he's going to last. But I'm delighted every time I see him running around or eating a treat, or cleaning himself in my hands that I was in such a bad place that day.


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