Eventually, I always come back to the idea of the passage of time perceived.
Today is July 29th, 2019. Does it feel like seven months ago that I was drunk on hot whiskey cider my ex-boyfriend’s mother served me and the three shots of vodka before that? And has only six months passed between those 24 hours spent meandering between giraffes, glistening lake grass and absolute silence? Five months since lying under the stars on the shores of the same lake, two meters behind an electric fence and techno show floundering at 2am. Only four since 10pm KFC delivery and Rosemary’s Baby? Three a shouting match in the forest. Just two away from crying into the phone every night? And the decadent 4km run around the Roman wall of Lucca, flying past ruins and green – a thin slice of a month separates July 29th me from June 29th me.
When does it feel like enough time has passed to reach a conclusion? To have gathered enough data and observations to arrive at a evidence-based projection of future success? To have a robust enough p-value? Does time and volume of indicators noted even matter if the end goal is unknown to the researcher?
But I am definitely living viscerally now. I don’t think that happens when the days pass exactly like previous ones.
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The Wendy Way 