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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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