She pulls her first Variance Log entries at eleven in the morning with the specific intention of being wrong about them.
This is harder than she expected. Not because the early entries are good — they are not. They are the work of someone who had just learned to read variance and was therefore overreading it, finding signal in everything, naming patterns from two data points. She knew this already in the abstract. Reading it in her own handwriting is different.
The first entry she marks for reclassification: she wrote evasion for a response pattern that could equally be dissociation. She had not known, six months ago, that those two things look identical from the outside and require different explanations. She had used the word that fit her hypothesis. She writes in the margin: reclassify. Consider dissociation. Reopen.
The second: she wrote pattern for what was technically two instances. Two is consecutive, not pattern. She had read Holloway and one other document together and called it pattern because the word felt earned. The margin note: reclassify. Two instances. Hold until third.
The third is worse. She wrote documentation gap for what may have been documentation that never existed. She had assumed something was missing that should have been there. She had not first verified that it should have existed at all. If the procedure did not require a record, there is no gap. There is only an absence she projected into the archive. Margin note: reclassify. Verify procedure first. Then evaluate absence.
She does not change the original entries. The Variance Log should show what she thought at the time and what she thinks now. That record is itself a variance — between the analyst who started this work and the analyst reviewing it.
She is both people. The log holds them on the same page, six months apart, margin note next to original entry, neither one erased.