24 hours. By @zoejessicad

By Zoe Jessica Dawson


24 hours.

If you read my first SCAB you’ll already know that I’m very conscious of time. Time, the peculiar human construct invented to help us make sense of life (and better organise first dates). Constantly passing, it’s one of the few remaining things that we cannot demand a refill, a restock, or a reload of. The clock ticks whether you listen to it or not. Literally speaking, ticking clocks drive my senses mad. Figuratively speaking, I’m always aware of it. I only have so many minutes on this planet – YOLO, or whatever – so I care about each and every one. And I’ve been keeping track.


1300 hours ago I got the call from Marc offering me a place at SCA.


1140 hours ago I wrote my first SCAB, 168 hours, reflecting on that week. This SCAB might feel like déjà vu. (Don’t get me started on déjà vu, wow).


672 hours ago we received Marc’s first countdown email, ‘life changes in 29 days.’ 504 hours ago was the second ‘22 days to go.’ 357 hours ago he switched to hours: 381. Turns out Marc is conscious of time, too.


48 hours ago he informed us that we had 3 more sleeps. I haven’t spent very many of those hours sleeping.


48 hours ago was also when I filled my car with my belongings and moved in to my new room at SW2.


144 hours ago I sent in my ‘this is me’ project (okay) and my scholarship brief (terrible); my first pieces of SCA work. The passion project clocked in at around 50 solid hours, most of which I thoroughly enjoyed (I think this was the point) including the 15 or so of those that I spent fiddling with final cut. The hour my mac spent rendering the video went more slowly than the 2 or 3 I’d spent tattooing bananas. The scholarship brief racked up more hours, but they were hours of thinking and panicking not hours of doing, the lack of which is painfully obvious in its execution.


720 hours ago I finished ‘Your Memory,’ which I’d been reading for at least 30 hours. A book usually takes me 5-10. If I’d told you sooner how acutely I cared about how I spend my time, Marc, would you still have made me read it? I’m not calling it a waste, but I’ve already forgotten how I’m supposed to remember so I do wonder if it did it’s job.


720 hours ago when I finished the book, I was in America, where I spent almost 600 hours this summer. Time passed differently out there, it always does when you’re away. Slowly and then all at once. Like falling in love and falling asleep as John Green wrote in my favourite YA book of my teens.


That’s also how time passes when you’re looking forward to something. (Maybe, you’re just falling in love with the future?)


1300 hours ago, the first day of term felt like a billion hours away. Now, it’s 24 and holy shit how did that happen?


So, in 24 hours (now 23, this SCAB has taken 1) I am going to be walking through the doors of St Matthew’s church, butterflies in my belly. 24 hours ago I was hungover in bed watching dr who and that doesn’t feel very long ago at all, which suggests that in 24 hours this moment right now won’t feel very long ago either.


In other words, for those of you who aren’t so invested in the mm movement of the second hand on your watch, it’s really fucking soon.

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