The end of the beginning.

I’ve had my last class for this semester. We watched “Sicko.” I’m going out for drinks with my classmates in an hour or two to celebrate. I got 87% (an A) for my presentation. I’ve offered to speak to the kids’ school science club about brains and my supervisor is delighted.

I’m feelin’ good!





Mr 7: Mummy, can you give me an idea of something to draw?

Me, writing my essay: The violence inherent in the system.

Mr 7: Actually, I think I’m gonna draw a bug.

Us and them

I had a revelation last Sunday. I was singing in the choir for a friend’s ordination to the Anglican priesthood. There was incense. There was liturgy. There was lots and lots of heartbreakingly beautiful music. And as I was singing it, I was thinking, “Ha, at least believe what I’m singing.” You know, like that post I posted a little while ago?

And then I think God slapped me round the back of the head. “How the heck do you know,” He said, “that everyone else here doesn’t believe it too? Yes, INCLUDING all those other choir members over there who make risqué jokes and live together OUT OF WEDLOCK.”

“Um,” I said, “you know, I actually don’t.”

“And,” He said, “I suppose you never do anything wrong, like them.

“Um,” I said, “touché.”

“Remember that bit,” He said, “about ‘In Christ there is no Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female’?”


“How about, no Anglican or Apostolic, gay-marriage-supporting or non-supporting, liberal or conservative?

“In fact, how do you know if someone is ‘In Christ’ or not? Only I know that. Therefore, this applies to EVERYONE.

“You ready for this?”

(Actually, God didn’t say that bit. I just need a dramatic pause before the punchline.)


I was rendered literally breathless by the force of this revelation. It’s probably old hat to some of you who’ve been close to Jesus for longer than I have, or who are just smarter than me.

There is no right-wing and left-wing. There are people who, like me, care about their children’s future, and about the health of those worse off. There is no rich and poor. There are people who, like me, have food to eat every day, and people who, like me, worry about how to afford all the things their family needs. There is no gay and straight. There are people who, like me, can’t always help loving people they can’t ever be with, and people who, like me, are blessed to have someone wonderful to live and share a bed with.

I am absolutely NOT saying there is no sin. But sinners, like me, sin. And try to do better next time. Or, like me, don’t.

I feel like a different person, on the inside. Let’s see if it makes a difference on the outside.

Oh, the irony

I am now reflecting on the process of writing a reflective reading journal, which, as its title indicates, is where you reflect on the articles you’ve been reading, which mostly are about reflexivity in research. Not reflectivity. I think that’s when you have the little shiny patches on the sides of the rotating platform that the mice are on so you can see it spin.

Rotate or revolve?

I think rotate.

God, I’m tired. Another day’s work on the reflexive reflexive reflective journal, it goes in on Friday morning, and then I’ve got a week to write about the connection between two works of art and health psychology. Probably with some reflexivity thrown in.

My presentation went just fine this morning. I like being in front of a class, it’s lots of fun. It’s so much easier to talk to a bunch of people who are watching you and nodding and asking questions than it is to talk to a mirror in your room.

Also I have a soft plush neuron (who I took to class and used to demonstrate just exactly where the recording electrodes went in studies one and two). Her name is now Pippi the pyramidal cell. You know? Like Pippi Longstocking, with the horizontal pigtails and men’s shoes? Did I get round to linking to the picture of this brain cell? I think I did. You’ll see why it kinda works if you go check it out.

Go on, go look. 

Meanwhile, I’m going to shut this computer and go watch an episode of Warehouse 13 and go to bed. And hope like heck that I can get away with not reading the reading for tomorrow morning’s class.

Bugger, why did I have to go and think that? Now I have to go look it up and read it or I’ll feel guilty.

Let’s see. If I can read it in, like, five minutes flat (who cares about comprehension, eh? – think of Calvin and Hobbes), then I reckon I can squeeze in some delightfully daft telly before bed.

Sorry, this is way more stream-of-consciousness than usual.

God I’m tired.