I feel like a zombie. My eyes are red, my nerves are fraught, and all my wine bottles are empty. There's a dent in my couch from where I've been sitting, and I've left my home just three times in the past week. Why? Journalism.
Well, journalism and true love. Since last Friday, I've been binge-watching The Bachelor in the hopes of clasping onto some unshakeable truths about relationships, and I've barely scratched the surface. It would take about two months to watch all 20 seasons in one stretch. In one week, I managed just four seasons — the second Brad, Ben F., Sean, and Juan Pablo — and even that involved barely stepping outside and clocking just a handful of hours of sleep each night.
For the past two days, Juan Pablo's face has been the last thing I've seen at night, and the first thing I've seen in the morning. I can't tell you what that does to a person's soul.
Actually, I can. Here, I dissect everything I've learned about life, love, and spray tans over the past week.