During my foolish youth, I decided I didn't need to wear flip-flops in the gym showers ('cause I was a rebel like that) and as a result have Plantar warts on one of my feet. They're not very large - mostly due to my doctor being pretty vigilant about removing them before they get to the point where they might cause pain - since I do, after all, spend a large portion of my working life standing.
For some reason, I picked up a really tenacious strain and the little bastards are completely resistant to any treatment besides cutting them out, so I have to have it done every so often. It's not a big deal - they numb the foot, cut the wart out and then for a week I can't wear any shoes but those horrible Crocs things.
When the doctor gave me the news today, I burst into tears at the idea of another procedure - completely out of character for me. I'm not normally weepy, and this really isn't all that big of a deal (the worst part of the whole thing is the injection into the nerve to numb the foot). I just sat there in the chair with tears running down my face as I said "Yes, Friday's fine. No, really... it's fine" while the doctor gave me that concerned look.
Ten bucks says that as I'm on my way out of his office tomorrow, he hands me a prescription for Prozac.
The only explanation I have is that it's a delayed freak-out from the dog bite. For the few days right after it happened, I had nightmares where I'd wake up thinking the dog was biting me again - I could actually feel the teeth closing on my leg - but they went away, and I thought it was fine. When I told a friend (whom I called for a ride home from the hospital) about my little meltdown today she said "I'm not surprised - you were way too calm just after it happened."
Post-meltdown, I had to do a freebie for a gaffer I work with a lot who's trying to jump up to DP, and needed a few of the normal crew to help light a blue screen shot for a micro-budget feature (Freebies suck, but when someone gives me a lot of work I'm kind of karmically obligated to do them).
Keeping an even exposure isn't as important in this day and age of digital (back in the day when effects were shot on film and composited on optical printers, an evenly lit bluescreen was critical), but it has to be pretty close and the light on the actor can't spill onto the screen, nor can the actors throw shadows onto the screen due to unfortunate light placement.
A bit much for a Craig's List 'copy and credit only' crew, so we showed up, set up the lights, shot the shit with the nice folks and then took off once we were no longer needed.
I was the butt of the jokes all day, as anytime I lost my train of thought during a conversation, mislaid my gloves or couldn't make a decision, it would instantly be blamed on the case of rabies* I've now got. This escalated into jokes about my howling at the moon while turning into a werewolf and... and... well, there was one more, but I forgot.
It's not a full moon, so it must be the rabies.
*I do NOT have rabies - but next time I work with this group, I'm going to stick an Alka-Seltzer (tm) tablet in my mouth at breakfast so I'll walk onto the truck foaming at the mouth, while acting really nonchalant about it ("What are you staring at? Do I have something stuck to my teeth? What?").
Couch of the Day: