story of my life.
i've been on a 'clean up' rampage this weekend. the horror of letting anyone see my apartment in its current state of biohazard was a little more than i could stomach & since we'll be shooting my next flick in long beach the chances of people actually seeing it are slightly higher than the normal 'no way in hell can you come over.'
so i've been packing, stashing, stowing, cramming, hiding, discarding and obsessively sorting every minute i'm not working — which isn't a lot of minutes but i've been trying my best to attend to both. it has been an eye-opening experience in terms of my previous — apparently completely random — packing job. the last two boxes i opened contained the following: a prosthetic leg, my ceramic pig head plaque (i was looking for that a few weeks ago too!), a dvd player, a few skateboarding mags, and my collection of glass insulators. the second box had a big container of industrial strength jasco which was not only open but leaking. if i don't have a brain tumor, after 6 months of breathing paint thinner used on jets i'm guessing there isn't much that is going to give me a brain tumor.
the worst part is, while i have cleared out a lot of shit & the path has become decidedly less dangerous through my apartment... i look around & it still looks like a serial killer's lair, albeit one with some rather expensive accessories. it's not like i'm trying to make it look pretty... just less scary. and after all my hours of work it seems like i have so much more to do. it's a little frustrating, especially since i'm dead tired, starving, my hands burn from getting jasco on them & i have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow. if i was really dedicated i would get up at 4:30 so i could make a pit-stop at universal & tag a few things before my production meeting but that's just not going to happen.
i'd give anything to take a long hot bath while eating something and walk out of my bathroom in an hour to a different apartment entirely. that would be one fucking amazing soak.