No other way
Scene from yesterday afternoon:
After approximately two weeks straight of collaborating on math problems through looming deadlines and the threat of absolute exhaustion, my officemate David and I found ourselves inexplicably in the possession of at least one day's worth of free time.
We were delirious and frightened with possibility. Not knowing how else to behave, I sat down to read some of Rudin's Real and Complex Analysis (the symbols of which swam freely on the page), while David waddled aimlessly in drifting circles around the office. I asked him, "What will you do with your free time?" He paused, looked down, and shook his head. "I don't know." Then he just stared into space for a minute or two.
Suddenly his gaze narrowed. He concentrated on something invisible, touched his fingers to the air as if nudging a ball of liquid. He looked down at me in my chair. "Do you want to see a proof?" I considered it. "What kind of proof?" He said, "Topological."
And I jumped up. "You know it!"
After approximately two weeks straight of collaborating on math problems through looming deadlines and the threat of absolute exhaustion, my officemate David and I found ourselves inexplicably in the possession of at least one day's worth of free time.
We were delirious and frightened with possibility. Not knowing how else to behave, I sat down to read some of Rudin's Real and Complex Analysis (the symbols of which swam freely on the page), while David waddled aimlessly in drifting circles around the office. I asked him, "What will you do with your free time?" He paused, looked down, and shook his head. "I don't know." Then he just stared into space for a minute or two.
Suddenly his gaze narrowed. He concentrated on something invisible, touched his fingers to the air as if nudging a ball of liquid. He looked down at me in my chair. "Do you want to see a proof?" I considered it. "What kind of proof?" He said, "Topological."
And I jumped up. "You know it!"