ed

To continue with this special period of time I've dubbed One Week of Hell:

One of my rats died.

To clarify, I mean, again. Died again.

I debated over getting another companion for the still-living Pazu, and finally decided due to their sociable natures, no rats should live alone. Plus, Pazu isn't particularly fond of human company, including/especially mine.

So the other day I hoofed about town with MrSmead and had a fanglorious time eating sushi, and picking up the new rattie from a reptile store, who was dubbed Sushi. Little girl. Two weeks old, fit in the palm of your hand little. A palmful of life.

As a joke, after cleaning their cage of Pazu's smell and introducing them to each other (where they got along), I says, "Now I'm going over to Smead's house for a while, so don't go killing each other or anything."

Ten minutes later my roommate calls me in a fit of hysterics because Sushi's bleeding from being attacked. The moment I get home, she dies. Burial number two.

Then I had to "housesit" my work so that some film students could get a project done there. I expected it to last from 10:30 to maybe 1 or 2 am at latest. They left at five in the morning.

Nicely enough, Smead stuck it out with me and we went to his place and watched too many cartoons in the meantime, and they called me back to lock up. And I got paid, so the company and the money at least made me somewhat giddy.

I was also supposed to go up and see G. Love perform in Asheville, but that didn't happen either because the friend who was supposed to help me rent a car to get up there was not around. Oh well. Ticket out and hotel fair still being paid for one night with friends I was supposed to meet, I suppose I'm glad I stuck around instead. I guess.

At least I got raging drunk last night to drown all my stupid rat sorrows away, that and general moodiness and lack of food/sleep. I crashed at MrSmead's place, thankfully, where I want to steal his bed, his cat, his blanky, and his jacket. And his Futurama episodes. Did I say that aloud? I mean, no. Never.

Aside from waking up feeling like a gorilla was sitting on my brain, the rest of the day seemed good. Until I discovered my bike was stolen. My bike, my bike, my sole source of transportation following my feet.

Oh well, at least I can say I've undergone the full-fledged Savannah experience, right? They just pulled the sign right out of the ground and stole my bike, lock and all. If I even spot what looks like my bike, I'm bricking someone in the head. Unless it's some ridiculously fat person. Then they just need it more than I do.

Sushi and E.S./L. (Ed Stuart Little) are my new girlies. Pazu's still around. I can't really imagine getting rid of her, because it would be unfair. I'll just do what I can.

The only good thing about this week was the people in it, and at least I can say they made up 75% of how I feel. Which is, in the long run, not miserable.

I guess all the loss signifies time for change and acceptance and new beginnings. Which ties in with a dream I've had, but that one will be left to myself for now.

Ugh.