woosh! i've now got ≥4 pages, 12pt single spaced, of what i guess i should stop calling a paper/project/thing since "paper" seems too pedestrian and refer to as my excuse for a thesis. (hey, it accounts for half a credit, and is potentially big enough to stop me from graduating.) that's i guess eight out of perhaps thirty ("yeah, or twenty, whatever" said the delectable prof. cothren) presumably meaning double-spaced though i think i'll do 1.5 with paragraph line breaks.

enough that i may well treat myself to a flic ce soir, and even, eventually, dinner. i'd been intending to work roughly straight through and get done tomorrow afternoon (?), but this has been so pleasantly process-over-product for me that i'm actually not in that particular a hurry, and i'd rather preserve my capacity for enjoying it, particularly if that means little enjoyments along the way. what i could really use is some yoga or a run (and food), so that may be in the works too (or in the running).

so far this paper has been almost overbearingly writerly - the bulk of what i've written so far is actually directly about words rather than art (though that will change soon!) i've been tacitly tabulating the intricacies of word's sometimes bizarrely arbitrary spellchecker, relishing how much i like words like "posit" (so useful, so cool), mourning the lack of interchangeable synonyms for "particularly" and "exactly," wondering: will one always continue to cling so to a thesaurus? as one internalizes a given array of near-synonyms will the drive for ever-more-exacting diction impel him ever further beyond it?

thank goodness rousseau is so fascinating, and thank goodness english is up to the task.

what could be more british than "here's a picture of me bum"?