I swear, sometimes I really do think that there is something wrong with me.
I mean, like my elevator-is-not-quite-reaching-the-top-floor kind of wrong.
It’s to be expected, I guess. I mean, these killer looks, perfectly sculpted body and big wee-wee just HAD to come at a price, didn’t it?
What exactly is my mental deficiency, you might ask?
I’m always worried that I’m naked.
Well, not naked, exactly. But at the very least…. I’m worried that I’m in my underwear.
Let me backtrack a bit.
A few years ago, I had a very good friend, who kinda lost his shit for awhile. I mean, he REALLY went batty….. like CHARLEY SHEEN batty. Over the course of a few months, his behavior became more and more erratic and violent. Most times, there was NO discernable reason for his anger.
For me, it came to a head when he, myself, my girlfriend at the time, and a bunch of our friends all went down to Cancun for a week and I almost beat him to death on the beach after he became violent towards my chick. I ignored him for the remainder of the vacation, and once we touched down at JFK, vowed never to speak to him again.
Over the next few months, I had heard disturbing stories from friends about what my ex-friend was up to, and his increasingly erratic behavior. It all seemed to come to a head when one day, he forgot to get dressed in the morning, and drove to work in his underwear.
When I heard that story, I was dumfounded. I mean, seriously, how fucking far must you have to fall off the sanity-wagon to drive to work in your skivvies?
Shortly after that incident, there was in intervention of sorts, and it was discovered that he suffered from a previously unknown chemical imbalance. He’s on medication now, and although we aren’t close anymore, as far as I know he now remembers to go to work wearing pants.
Anyway, looking back at all the crazy shit he pulled during that time, the one thing that has ALWAYS stood out to me, even now, a decade later, is the thought of him driving to work in his underwear.
And what scares me is that I fear that a little bit of his ‘crazy’, seems to have been passed on to me.
When I get up to go to work every day, I’m pretty much in a fog of sleep. I am barely awake in the morning, as I get dressed in the dark and stumble out to my car. I’m usually in a big time haze of sleep, and typically do things that don’t make a helluva lot of sense. Today, for instance, I realized when I got to work that I had on the wrong color shoes.
Anyway, knowing that I am slightly loopy in the morning, and always having the knowledge of my friend’s breakdown in the back of my mind, I am cursed every damn morning with a sudden panic attack as I’m walking through the parking lot into my office with the frightening thought that I FORGOT TO PUT MY PANTS ON TODAY!
I’m not kidding. Every morning, as I walk into my office, it suddenly occurs to me that I didn’t remember to put my pants on, and I quickly stop and inspect myself to ensure that I am in fact NOT walking into work in my speedos.
No, it has never happened so far, but that doesn’t mean it COULDN’T, right? I have this unrelenting fear that one day I will walk into work naked. It’s like having one of those dreams where you are in school and suddenly you don’t have clothes on. Every damn day.
Anyway, I’ll keep plugging along trying to remember to dress myself, but in the meantime, if any of you fine ladies could please send me pictures of you in YOUR underwear, I think it might help me start the healing process.