Mea culpa! Mea culpa
must do explain themselves
Sigmund Freud would hate me.
As some of you may know (I have not yet dared to check my email this morning, so I'm not sure), I made a hideously embarrassing amateur's mistake last night: putting a (very long) list of addresses into an email's "To" field, rather than the "BCc" field.
To make matters worse, said email was an invitation to join the Edifice Rex mailing list. And so it was that my fantasies of waking up to an inbox replete with subscription notifications instead became nightmares of rising to face the wrath of some 95 outraged voices demanding to know just how stupid yours truly really is.
I said "nightmares", but even my sub-conscious knows it wasn't that big a deal. Anxiety dreams is what I had last night, not 'nightmares'. That is, I dreamt a lot last night, and every dream I remember had to do with opening my email and dealing with the fall-out from my bone-headed move last night.
No sublimation for Young Geoffrey, that's for sure! No symbolism or imaginative metaphors, just prosaic variations on how folks might react to having their email address 'shared' with 94 strangers.
Anyway, that was then, this is now. I suppose I can take some comfort in the fact my shame has got nothing on what Rob Ford should be feeling right about now.
I know. Cheap shots R us.
In other news, and to add insult to self-inflicted injury, my Wikipedia fame was short-lived. My citation has been removed and (horrors!) the review in question dismissed as "amateurish".
Heaven forfend! And if you're new to these pages, welcome aboard. And sorry for screwing up the invitation.