Last week, I was in the 1860s.
Today, I am mostly in HR meetings.
How can we think in different times, and in different places, the historian asks?
In such small pieces.
In moments walking up the hill to work, between seeing students and committee meetings, in the minutes affords by online systems, by emails, hungry boxes, feedback exercises, for which we are so grateful for your participation.
By breakfast today I was in 1879.
Pascaline S. was defrauding Parisian wetnurses, until she was interrupted by a waiter bringing me a coffee.
The victims of her frauds numbered over fifty, the newspapers claim.
I know nothing more about them, and now I am running late for work.
What is work?
Work is just another set of unopened files in other places.
I use my most primal magic: unread email cannot compel me.
What compels me?
Pascaline S. giving a woman named Marie a little bottle covered with red and black paper with skulls and mysterious numbers drawn on and –
I take a note in my project journal:
Case database, reached 1880A, no. 470.
Such small pieces the historian creates.