I don't even have to do this. I don't even need to produce 7,000 words of the next chapter for Tuesday's meeting with Dr P; his 7,000 words was just an arbitrary guideline to which I am not bound.
I currently have 4,279 words. And I take it as a personal challenge to hit 7,000 words for no reason whatsoever, no rational reason at all - except to prove that I can.
I will bloody do it even if it means being here for two more hours and/or producing utter shit. At least I have something to revise if there is shit. It is better than no shit.
I managed to exceed 7,000 words by a little bit, but I definitely cheated. I typed out long chunks of quotes from Appiah's book without stating their relevance to the argument or what I was trying to do with it. I was too tired to pin down the link I want to make between his explication of identity, and Daniel A. Bell's theory of constitutive communities.
Hence, I shall revise this really crappy draft after French class later today. I don't feel particularly pleased at all that I produced a draft because of how crappy it is. I might as well have done nothing, really.
Speaking of French class: as usual, I did not revise anything. I didn't understand at all how time is told in French last week; just like the way they count, it involves too much mathematics for me to grasp immediately. I mean, the word 'minus' is in the way time is told in French. That kind of sums it up, doesn't it?
The last thing - last two things - that I want to say are the following. First, I really did end up giving in to my chocolate craving and bought a chocolate cake from Fitzbillies (or rather, Barry bought me one; he's still paying off the 17 pounds that he owes me for the guest ticket that I booked for B's friend, which eventually went to Will when the said friend cancelled). I tried to resist, I really did; I didn't buy it when I went to get coffee at about 2.30pm. But I found myself thinking about chocolate while I was sitting in the library, trying to write the 7,000 words, and when Barry texted me at 3 asking if I wanted coffee and he's going to get cake, I bloody gave up the resistance. I bought myself cake.
We ate it together in the MCR and I cannot even begin to describe how good - how life-changingly good - the chocolate tasted. It didn't even matter that parts of the cake were a bit too tough or that the sponge wasn't super soft. The whole point was the chocolate fudge. I was in heaven. It was almost orgasmic. I think I need to be realistic about this sugar-free thing, i.e. it is fundamentally opposed to my love for chocolate (and delicious cake, basically). Maybe I should just indulge in it once a week. I exercise so much anyway, and I've increased the time that I spend in the gym much to my chagrin (because working out in the gym is so bloody boring), so surely I need to ingest something to burn at the gym?
Okay. I will see how long I manage to last before thoughts of chocolate threaten to take over my brain. Hopefully it's not shorter than 6 days, or I would really think that I have a problem.
The second thing that I want to say is... I think Matt flirted with me? I went back to FB with Barry to get the cake, and while we were in the queue, Matt emerged from the back room and saw me.
'Back again so soon?' he said. 'Did you miss me?'
I didn't even register what he said, or I would've played along, or said something more direct. I always do, for instance; or Are you flirting with me? Instead, I replied, 'Of course!' and then immediately after that, 'And I really want some chocolate cake.'
'I thought you're doing sugar-free?'
'Yeah, I was...'
He completed my sentence for me: '...until I gave you that piece of cake. So it's my fault then.'
(Writing about chocolate cake is making me think about it, which in turn is making me want to eat it. Oh my god, die already, this horrible craving!)
Yep, the blame falls squarely on his shoulders indeed. But I think it's worth it anyway, all things considered: it made me happy when I was feeling shitty, and it also led to my refining of an anti-Finnis argument, so the ends justify the means in this case, I think.
Anyway, so that was quite cute. He made a cup of latte with cashew milk. I stared at it for a while, wondering what non-dairy milk was in there which prevented latte art and foamed as one circle at the top. He said it was cashew milk and gave me a bit to try.
It was so tasteless. So tasteless. If I really focused on it, I could taste a tiny hint of some nutty flavour, but it was mostly water - exactly like how soy milk is in this part of the world. It is mostly water with less than 10% of soy beans. What a far cry from the rich, delicious soya milk that I get in Singapore, especially the one that my mom makes.
I told him, 'It's tasteless.' Isn't it wonderful how I have this tendency to say whatever I am thinking without considering whether it would come across as rude? Oh well.
I ought to stop drinking coffee with regular milk, but the flat white really doesn't taste like a flat white with non-dairy milk. It has nothing to do with the quality of the milk substitute; it is simply the fact that the coffee and dairy milk mix in a way that brings out a special flavour that non-dairy milk does not bring out. And it is this flavour that I love, this bit of sour after taste, this fragrance of a combination of espresso and milk steamed at just the right temperature...I love this so much that it's almost worth the painful bloating that I sometimes get. Almost, I think, but not quite. But it is so hard to quit it.