speak up, Unconscious, I can't quite hear you....

Here is last night's dream:

I am lined up to present a seminar paper in the evening, on my research. I have not actually written anything down, so I am going to wing it. I visit many bookshops in the course of my day: in each one I meet the same person, a recent PhD from my department, and in every store he is buying a copy of his own book, and, super-annoyingly, distributing photocopied pages from the same publication. He gives me one of these. I read it and think, 'a ha, yes, I can use this stuff in my talk tonight. It's better than my stupid ideas.'

Cut to the seminar room, which is narrow and extremely long, with a room divider halfway down, and is full of elderly people sitting round cabaret tables playing board games, solitaire, knitting etc. I approach the lectern at one end and begin to mutter and perspire; instantly, the crowd shouts out, 'speak up, speak up! we can't hear you! We can't hear a word you're saying!' Grateful for the interruption, I step back and try to think up a coherent argument while somebody brings up a microphone stand. I step up to the mike stand. There is no microphone on it.

The Man In Charge produces a ballerina, shoving her toward me and saying to her, 'You have a loud voice. Just ignore her bad handwriting, and read out her speech from her script. Laura, give her your script.'

....rest of dream lost in confused roarings.

What it can possibly mean?