the dreams you forget

Someone told me recently that its the dreams that you just can’t quite remember that are most revealing about your unconscious. Often nowadays I wake in the middle of the night with a memory of a dream, telling myself I must remember what I’ve just dreamed but by the morning it is gone – just out of reach.

another sad story

My poor university is in trouble again: see the THES. There was a mischievous leak of a letter some of us signed. Mischievous because I can’t see what good this will do anyone – either the university managers or the profs that signed it. There have been some very moving testimonies from frustrated and demoralised professors up on our email.

I paid the ultimate price for unsafe sharing

Last night in a corner of a smokey pub in Cambridge a friend and I nuzzled up our Palm Treos together and mine accepted some apparently handy apps. I glanced up nervously, feeling guilty about this liaison in a public space, expecting to be thrown out. Back home, with the night wearing on and a failed hotsync later my trusty Palm was caught in an agonizing loop of starting up and going nowhere, and my pulse was racing. It was my moment of haste in the pub and now my digital life was potentially in ruins. Where was my Unique Tax Reference and my password for my paypall account? What was my son’s telephone number? When is the next research committee meeting? I went to bed in a mood of muted mourning knowing that I had not yet plumbed the depths of the extent of my loss. The extent of my passion for gimicry, gagetry (looking to them to stave off existential boredom) and my love of furtive free things was mirrored in the voiceless horror of my confusion. The story continues….