It’s been a month. A month in which I have hardly slept, have ingested more than I think I need to know about machine learning, and have thought of Nicole Kennedy no less than seven thousand times per minute.
The longer I don’t call her to apologize, the more I feel like I shouldn’t bother. She’s probably moved on by now, I think, and the image of her with another man turns my blood to ice.
Orla says I need to grovel, do something epic. I have no idea what that means. I’m not an epic guy, and she seems to really dislike having attention brought to her in crowds anyway. There are literally zero examples from my life of people using good communication skills to navigate a problem in a healthy way.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Em, the admin for our building, raps on my office door.
