Long piece on the BBC yesterday about Damien Hirst, the artist most well known for his works involving dead animals in tanks of formaldehyde. Also my last day at work, my last (formal) chance to make sure that the people taking on my various roles have the knowledge necessary to keep the same balls in the air that I did, and some wistful goodbyes. (And a couple of kickass foosball games, too.)
This morning’s dream: an accomplice and I had a secret underground bunker underneath a farm’s barn. The entrance was concealed underneath a pile of hay, and the authorities were snooping around and having campfire singalongs in the barnyard. My accomplice and I were storing the dead bodies (in formaldehyde) in the bunker and hoping that we wouldn’t be found out.