I want to write about the net effect of making something clear.
To start I might mention the writing process itself, and talk about how a blank page simultaneously reflects the mind's uncertain, analog intuitions and demands crisper forms. How putting pen to paper can tease out a subtle idea or, perhaps as often, leave the nuance behind.
I'd probably suggest that the operating principle is the same when the wave function collapses and a "perfectly normal cloud of complex amplitude in configuration space" becomes amenable to classical analysis. I'd evaluate the information gained and lost by compacting a set of diffuse possibilities.
What of the endless chase through the digits of pi, I'd then ask rhetorically. What good is arbitrary precision when there's always something left over? How long is the coast of Britain?
I'd change gears, maybe, and poke fun at myself for always losing arguments. I'd break down the simple rhetorical gambits that leave me vehemently defending a position I never believed in, and report on the difficulty of simply claiming ignorance. Again I'd draw a parallel: an assertion forced is kind of like a word chosen or a wave collapsed. I'd have some pithy conclusion.
But unfortunately all I have is this title "Before the Water Freezes" and some vague impressions.