So it’s been a long and arduous week called SUCK around these parts, and there’s no real use pretending otherwise. I’ve abused the snooze alarm every. single. day, and have come into work looking miserable with sort of still wet, sort of fried by humidity hair only to find masses of work and disorganized chaos filling up my inbox. Today marked the third consecutive lunch I’ve had to take with interns, wowing them with how much I love my job (HA. Ahaha). And walking to the train yesterday, I met the girl who was the best man’s date from the wedding; turns out she lives in my building (Random! Yes.). We talked the whole way there about the weekend and what I thought; I put on a happy face and told her how beautiful it was, and how much fun I had. I was tempted to tell her how interesting I thought her boyfriend’s speech was, but I resisted. It was really, truly, probably the worst best man speech I’ve ever heard. Obviously wasted. And awkward, too—the guy cheated on, then divorced his own wife, once upon a time, which unfortunately played in. AWESOME.

I didn’t say anything mostly, I think, because I felt for her. I’ve been that girl, the one who’s haplessly and blindly in love with a loser. See, e.g., this weekend; see, e.g., my life.

Few things hurt more than the realization that what we believe exists is in reality a mirror-like desire duping us in return.

Great sentence, that. It’s not mine—it’s borrowed from an e-mail I received early in the week from the PhD. He asked about the wedding, and in a moment of searing and wine-induced honesty, I set it all out. I kind of expected never to hear from him again. My experience teaches that men don’t respond to me when I want to be real. On that precedent, the page and a half I got back not a day later was kind of magical.

We’re going to sushi tonight, he and I. Maybe it’s true, what they say after all, that good things can come from chaos—that flowers can bloom out of gravel.