Slippin’ and slidin’ the three-and-a-half blocks to the gym this morning, arms flailing, ’cause the rain from the night before froze on the sidewalk in such a way that the ice was masquerading as innocent puddles of water. Treacherous!

Happily, by the time I emerged an hour and a half later, the ice was a-melting and it was easy street all the way home. And then there was a hot shower; and then there was coffee over Gide; and then there was leftovers dressed up as new lunch; and then there was me dressed up in not-jeans-and-three-goddamn-sweaters because today, after weeks of crap weather, we had a heatwave of 4 degrees Celsius, which meant I could wear a cardigan and a skirt and heels; and then there was school, where the kids were all enjoying the sun outside on the steps of Low Library; and then there was a shopping expedition in SoHo which resulted in pink skirt, black skirt, green T-shirt, and pink underwear; and then there was a front-row seat to see Adrian Tomine at Housing Works Used Book Café, and he was cute and smart and funny, and his Optic Nerve #9 is gorgeous, and I would’ve gotten in line to get his autograph after, except I just don’t know what the point is, really, of getting someone’s autograph; and there was meeting this guy sitting next to me, who was also funny and who—yay—said, “Maybe we could get some coffee sometime?” before I left; and then there was dinner with Nicole and Bill at Nyonya, which meant the table was soon full of prawn mee and roti canai and kang kong belacan and char kway teow and crispy squids; and then there was the F train miraculously coming into the East Broadway station same time as me; and then there was home, which is now, and which is nice.