Mirror of the mind

April 17, 2012

‘But as computers become common-place objects in daily life – in leisure and learning as well as in work – everyone will have the opportunity to interact with them in ways where the machine can act as a projection of part of the self, a mirror of the mind.’

This was Sherry Turkle in 1984. If this screen is a mirror of my current state of mind, and the reflection is to be represented in text:

hgghrhagiogi[mamf hrrhup qp939

Despite rereading my argument that we’re not disembodied in virtual life, I have to admit I feel weirdly disembodied in real life today. Or wrongly embodied. As though somebody switched with me in the night and my hands and legs don’t feel quite right. That sounds very dramatic. I’m just tired – but probably no more so than most new parents (and I have the promise of uninterrupted sleep in a few days – win!). I am making a fuss here because it makes me feel better. It is the mirror of my mind, after all, and if the great Shezza Turkle says it, it must be true 🙂

The British Library has quietened down a little. It always thins out after 5pm.  Just the hardcore crew left now. The desperate. Or maybe they just brought packed lunches so they weren’t a) forced to pay £6.95 for a sandwich, or b) driven home by starvation. There’s a few of them though with that ‘deadline look’ – the one i see in my face when I look in the mirror. The real mirror that is – not the mirror of my mind.

Having said that, both reflections are equally horrifying just now.

 

 

 

10

April 16, 2012

10 days ’till hand in

8 days ’till binders.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I started counting sheep. Little fluffy lambs jumping over a gate. I got to 640 which is, I think, the highest I’ve ever counted in one sitting. Achievements a-plenty here in Wonderland, I tell you. After 640 the sheep stopped jumping over a gate and began to mill about in that way sheep do until I couldn’t tell which ones I’d counted and which ones I hadn’t. I guess that’s why sheep have splodges of paint on them. Anyroad, there were a shit load of sheep in my head before I finally fell asleep.

It’s no wonder I can’t sleep. On the one hand I feel tired to my bones. Like that feeling you get when you’re sickening for something and your legs ache like bastards from walking up a flight of stairs. On the other hand I feel constantly like I’ve had about 15 cups of coffee.

I am currently wading through my proofreaders’ corrections and comments. Obviously it’s reassuring that they have picked up on them before the examiners scrutinise it all but when I re-read some of my 3am typos and sentences all mangled like a game of twister I wonder how I was ever allowed to enrol on a PhD in the first place.

An additional hindrance is that Audrey has taken to howling loudly (yes, howling, not meowing) unless I let her sit on a) my proofread chapters b) my laptop or c) my shoulders. However awkward it is to write with a cat on your shoulders, it’s less detrimental than the first two options.