I’ve been tracking my errors, finding cracks in appearances, and the lesson for me in reality, I’m a scholar in a medieval cathedral in twelfth century France. Minding your errors is supposed to help you tune into your place and time, but that didn’t happen for me. Instead, my errors seem predestined, and my supposed place and time is all wrong. Reality is a carousel, not like the rock of Gibraltar. Deep in the scriptorium, my ink is slow to dry but it will last for centuries.