is it enough to love the thing you are working with? the clay, the yarn, the language, the burning mess of it all? the elegance of a well-written predicate, the re-constitution of a line in a proof by contradiction? or should we love the things they make, the jar, the oven mitt, the executable, the absolute? is it enough to be enamored by the obstacle? is it enough to love the means? i say yes. the end will always be work. the means will always be play. i say make everything into a tool with which you are playing. the gleaming pick, the induction, the heartache, the strategy. cherish the numbers that bind us to the earth, puzzle them out, and navigate them well, free of irony, lovingly.