I'm Going To Be Single For The Rest Of My Life

I just cannot seem to pull it together.

For the last sixteen days, I have been filming for work almost every waking hour of the day. I have been walking around in a half-awake stupor, leaving contact lenses in overnight to save me the three minutes each morning of having to put them in, allowing me to sleep in a three precious minutes longer. On top of that, I recently moved, and I have yet to find the time or energy to take my clothes out of the large black plastic bags I shipped them in. So there my clothes sit, in six trash bags, crammed into my closet. Every morning I literally dip my hands into one of them and put on the first two things I pull out, hoping to god one is a shirt and one is a pant. One morning, the second thing I pulled out was a scarf, and I had a good five second hesitation, wondering if I could wear it as a shirt because I was too tired to dip in again for another option.

Not only that, but I have been sleeping in my clothes. Unless something literally has feces smeared down the front of it, I have been able to find a way to justify wearing it because its "not that dirty". In all fairness, I've been spending my days mostly in the dark shadows of the ONN set, surrounded by people who are equally tired and lazy about changing their clothes. It's not uncommon for me to be in a conversation with people on that set where people see who's gone the longest without showering or wondering if washing one's face practically counts as a half-shower.

Two days ago, the first thing I pulled out of one of my trash sacks was a pajama shirt. It's a V-neck I never wear out in front of people because I don't have that sort of douchey, sculpted chest that would make me want to buy and wear a V-neck. It's actually not even that deep of a V, but just the idea of wearing it makes me worry that everyone around me is thinking, "What does he think that V is doing? Is it supposed to be showing off something? Because I can't find it." But I put it on anyway, then spent the rest of the night tugging at the back of my shirt, trying to pull the V back, so it was more of a shallow V. But then the back collar of my shirt was too low and it exposed the neck zit I had/have. It was a constant struggle.

Sidenote: One time I went to get a haircut and the woman was shaving the back of my neckline, then stopped and said, "I can't quite finish. You have a zit back here I'm going to have to shave around." Really, hairstylist? You couldn't have let me just leave without that little piece of information? Am I really going to notice a small portion of my neckline being uneven? It's clear from the zit that I don't go back there much.

But anyway, the second thing I pulled out of my sack the day of the V-neck was a swimsuit. I didn't give it a second thought before putting it on. Plus, I didn't have to wear underwear!, I thought. That's how much of a mess I am. I justified it to myself by saying it was summer and I'm from California, and for all people know I easily could have just come from the pool. Within minutes of getting to rehearsal, everyone was like, "Is that a swimsuit?". I personally didn't see what the big deal was. But everyone was legitimately concerned, asking, "But what if you met someone today, someone you found attractive? And you were wearing that swimsuit?" To which I thought several things:

1. I'm not going to be meeting anyone.
2. No, really. I'm not going to be meeting anyone.
3. If I were to meet someone, I still would probably find three reasons to hate them in the five seconds it would take them to think, "No, that couldn't be a swimsu--".
4. I want to end up with someone who would be down with wearing a swimsuit as shorts when you're having a long, hard week and you don't want to put any work into looking like a person.

Then I went off on a long-winded day dream about meeting my life-long partner in this life while wearing said swimsuit. We would laugh about how off-kilter I was, about how I was just one sidestep away from having it together. He would be charmed. I would be discreetly pulling the hot mesh from off my ballsack because I forgot swimsuits have netting. And then we would kiss. And that would be that.

Then yesterday, I had to go to a concert at Radio City Music Hall, and about an hour before going, I spilled coke all down the front of my shirt. I had already been wearing it for two days, so it was on its last leg when it was doused in my drink. So I walked across the street to H&M to buy a shirt. That's how lazy I am. I would rather pay money for a new shirt than just do laundry. So I put on the shirt, and it was perhaps the first clean thing that had touched my body in weeks. I felt so good about myself. An hour later at dinner, I realized the tag was still on, hanging from my armpit. And I had just ridden the subway with a coworker for 30 minutes who HAD to have seen it, but didn't say anything.

But now the shoot is over. I'm going to do laundry tonight and take a good long shower. And a good long look at myself. That's probably the more important of the two looks.

If you see me, please give me a hug.