by Dear diary, properly lost track of time tonight, entirely absorbed in an argument with my colleague Marcus that ran a full forty minutes past when we’d both agreed to actually leave for dinner, neither of us willing to concede the point first, both of us genuinely enjoying the argument considerably more than either of us would readily admit out loud.
The whole thing started because of a genuinely unresolved authorship question, one that decades of accumulated scholarship still hasn’t managed to settle definitively either way, and Marcus had apparently formed a considerably stronger opinion on the matter than I’d ever previously realised, an opinion he defended with a specific, stubborn passion I haven’t seen from him in months.
What the actual argument covered
Stylometric evidence versus historical plausibility, mostly, a genuine methodological disagreement rather than simply two people being stubborn for its own sake. I lean toward the stylistic analysis. Marcus trusts the surrounding historical record considerably more than any purely textual pattern-matching, however sophisticated the actual statistics behind it happen to be.
Neither of us actually budged, genuinely, though I think we both walked away from dinner, considerably later than planned, with a somewhat better understanding of exactly why the other person holds their position as firmly as they do. That feels like a real outcome even without either of us conceding anything.
What we actually ate, for the record
Whatever the restaurant hadn’t run out of by the time we finally arrived, considerably later than our reservation, the kitchen visibly unimpressed by two academics who couldn’t manage to stop arguing about a three-hundred-year-old letter long enough to actually show up on time.
What I’m doing about round two
Scheduling an actual proper debate, dinner entirely separate this time, so neither the argument nor the meal has to suffer for the other’s sake going forward.
What I’m actually going to research before round two
The specific stylometric studies Marcus kept referencing but couldn’t fully recall the details of under pressure, purely so our next debate operates from considerably firmer shared ground rather than dueling half-remembered citations neither of us could properly verify on the spot.
What I actually find myself admiring about Marcus’s whole position
Its genuine consistency, honestly, whatever I think about its ultimate conclusion. He trusts the surrounding historical record as a matter of considered methodology, not simply stubbornness, and I think that consistency deserves real respect even from someone who leans toward an entirely different kind of evidence when the two methods happen to disagree.
What I suspect will actually happen at round two
More or less exactly what happened tonight, if I’m honest, both of us arriving considerably better armed and still walking away without either side genuinely conceding anything substantial. Some disagreements, I think, are less about reaching consensus than about the genuine pleasure of properly testing an argument against someone who takes it as seriously as you do.
What I texted my sister about tonight, for context
A single exasperated line about missing dinner over a three-hundred-year-old letter, which she found considerably funnier than I did in the actual moment, though I’ll admit the humour has grown on me somewhat in the hours since. There’s something genuinely absurd about two grown academics losing complete track of time over an authorship question neither of us has any hope of definitively resolving tonight, this decade, or possibly ever.
What I’m actually grateful for about Marcus specifically
That he’s exactly the kind of colleague who makes these late, meandering arguments genuinely worthwhile rather than simply exhausting, someone whose disagreement sharpens my own thinking considerably more than agreement ever could.
I think good academic friendships often run on exactly this kind of productive friction, two people who respect each other’s actual rigour enough to disagree properly rather than politely deferring simply to preserve a comfortable social peace neither of us would actually want if it meant intellectual stagnation.
Goodnight, diary
Dinner finished, considerably later than planned, authorship question exactly as unresolved as it was before tonight’s argument began, and somehow that feels like precisely the right outcome for an evening spent doing this particular kind of work properly.
Bed now, properly, satisfied stomach and considerably sharper argument in hand than the one I walked in with, tomorrow’s own reading list already quietly reshaped by tonight’s stubborn debate.
Sleep well, diary. One letter, still disputed, still genuinely fascinating precisely because nobody’s actually settled it yet, and I suspect neither Marcus nor I would genuinely want it any other way, whatever we each keep insisting to the other over dinner, properly, at increasingly unreasonable hours.
Goodnight, diary. Same argument, presumably, waiting for us again next month, considerably richer for every round we manage to survive together, properly and stubbornly, as academic friendships apparently ought to be conducted, honestly, at every genuinely possible opportunity that presents itself.
Lamp off now, properly, whole argument still turning quietly in my head as I drift off, exactly the kind of restless, productive thinking I’ve come to genuinely, properly welcome rather than resent at the end of a long, genuinely eventful day, honestly.
