Yesterday morning when I got to the office, I had two emails waiting in my inbox. The first was my coworker from real-estate – you know, the one that wants to set me up on a blind date – wondering if this weekend would be good for me to meet (what she likes to call) my soul mate.

My soul mate's name is Dave, and he’s in Pharmaceutical Sales. And he’s tall, but not weird tall (per her). Just tall.

I haven’t garnered an adequate amount of enthusiasm to respond yet.

The second email was from my boss suggesting that I apply for a new manager position that’s just been created in Finance (I currently work in Accounting). This really perked me up, because the promotion would be a significant upgrade from my current not-entirely-thankless, but somewhat drudge-resplendent role. I responded back immediately to thank him and then spent the rest of my day putting together a resume. If I get this job, I think I might finally be able to buy a place.

For much of last night and this morning, I’ve daydreamt about living in a chic, industrial loft abundant with furniture by Mies van der Rohe on Printer’s Row with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a rainily* incandescent, Chicago cityscape. I’m going to pretend for the moment that affordable, cookie-cutter condos in Wrigleyville don’t exist. I'm also going to pretend like I know where exactly in the South Loop Printer's Row might be.

*I decided that if I'm going to use run-on sentences, I might as well start making up words too.