It just hit me today that working on this essay about MPF is unfortunately a really stellar means of procrastination.
While I keep reading and looking things up, trying to find out obscure details of an obscure person's life, I keep catching sight of Major Project sitting in the corner.
I'm obsessing about whether MPF ate corn flakes or Cheerios, and in the meantime Major Project is waving at me.
"Helloooo--you there! Look over here! Remember me?"
I catch that set of books out of the corner of my eye, the way a dog looks sideways when it knows it's done something wrong. I can't answer back, because what could I say? "Sorry, but I'm trying to find out whether MPF would have met another equally obscure figure at a party on November 30 of that important year."
I guess there's only one way out of this dilemma: dialing the level of detail back a notch and going not around but through the essay on MPF. In the meantime, Major Project is going to have to wait, but she's looking kind of impatient to me.