The second blizzard of the winter came in yesterday morning and created peace across the city for all non-drivers. Drivers, on the other hand, sang out in a chorus of text messages: “FML”.

I had an important presentation to deliver at 11 yesterday. It was contentious from the start. The talk consisted of an uncomfortable state-of-the-project update to senior management about a tool I now manage, but have always had doubts about. The project team, all 7 people, are so infatuated with and in love with the thing, any critique causes great tension. Given that the whole project team was there yesterday morning, in addition to all of senior management, the state was set for fireworks.

I was a groggy from the start. I didn’t get a great sleep and came in feel off my game, though that improved.

By the end of the talk, things were good. I posed some challenges, responded to challenges posed back at my ideas, and all-in-all it was a great example of the benefits of open group discussion. I left feeling pretty good.

The feeling didn’t last long because I knew I had another project update meeting this morning, 10. I’ve pretty much just finished that, and am now eating and catching up on my writing here. Incidentally, sorry for the delay. You’ve been very patient.

Let me quickly tell you about Saturday night. I went to a date at her place, my first time there. She lives over on 69th and central park west. Nice building, beautiful NYC apartment. Long hallway, two br and a living room, small kitchen, but everything very solidly constructed. Solid concret walls painted a nice color, flawlessly. All the baseboards and doorway frames were of the old school style, all painted so perfectly. Reminded me of some homes I’d been in up in NH, build with the old quality, spaces meant to last, spaces that demand respect. In her place, you want to pick up after yourself immediately. She had oriental carpeting throughout and her kitchen had black marble countertops. Her cupboards all had windows and were very LL Bean. Not my thing overall, but I appreciated the details and styling. Her furniture was all high quality and well-picked, very solid, mostly hardwood pieces. She has a fireplace and a large bath and shower, very rare for NYC living. Given its location off the express trains, off the park, and just minutes walk from Lincoln Center and all of that, it must have cost a fortune and I don’t know how she could afford it. She has a position two grades below mine.

When I walked in, she was so excited. She led me to the kitchen where she had a thanksgiving’s worth of groceries that she’d gotten just for that night, for us. Among the things she bought were things she knew I liked, picked from conversations we had had, or things she’d overheard from me here and there. I felt at once honored and amazed, and also nervous. I’m not used to being treated that way.

We prepared food and cooked together while taking mini shots of soju. We made out here and there while cooking. She wore tight black pants and a soft sweater that I couldn’t keep my hands off.

She’s hard to describe, but one way is to say that she’s the doctor’s wife. Ever meet those families out in NH in which the father is a doctor? And they have two kids with one syllable names, like Ben or Kate or Jen or Dan, and they have family dinners that the mom makes, and they take vacations to their lake house, or ski trips to Vale or Aspen. In those families, the mother has a quality– and by quality I mean characteristic, or really a collection of characteristics– and this girl has them. There’s a look, a sound of the voice, a style, a preference… something, that is the doctor’s wife.

I suppose you see the issue here: I’m not a doctor.

But it was a great night. Breafast was incredible, among the best I’ve ever had, and since that night we’ve been talking about how good it was, how nice it was. I have no idea what any of it means, but I’m trying desperately to not overthink, and to be open. She made me banana bread today and I haven’t eaten it yet.

Talk you guys tomorrow.