Never mind “a room of one’s own”; I’d be happy with a laptop of my own. I don’t demand an office “space”. I’ve given up dreaming of even a desk of my own. I just want to use my laptop without waiting for Kate and Mim-Mim to finish downloading. Is nothing sacred?
Children. They pervade everything. The IPad, the IPhones, the Sky remote – all have a clammy coating of Haribo spittle and biscuit crumbs from the hot little paws of my offspring. I have to wipe my phone down before I can use it.
All of this I can bear. It’s family life. Their spittle is my spittle.
You want to look up a Power Ranger Mystic Force costume? Use my phone! You want to download Angry Birds Transformers? Here’s the IPad. You want to have a crazy “I am a gummy bear” disco? There’s the TV!
But not my laptop! Please, not my laptop! My laptop, that creates an office space for me, wherever I’m using it. That holds my latest burst of creativity suspended, waiting for me to finish it. All those windows open in my browser – they are the windows to my mind! They are my external hard drive. If you make my laptop freeze so I have to force quit, I lose thoughts I may never have again!
But there is a worse offender. How often do I come to my laptop and find Fantasy Football league tables?
“It was right there, so I used it!” he protests.
“Yours is just there! Use that!” I hiss.
“You can have it back in a minute, I just need to place this bet.”
“But I need to look at The White Company sale RIGHT NOW!”
I know, I know, my needs on the laptop are often frivolous, transitory and in no way contributory to the world or family good. But they are mine. And so is my laptop!
Dearest family, you can share my bed, you can share my bath, you can share my loo, you can share your lovely chocolatey drool when you kiss me. But if I can’t have a room of my own, as Virginia Woolf famously asserted is essential for a woman to write [fiction], at least grant me a laptop of my own.
Do you have a special space where you work / Pin / blog / shop? Is it constantly invaded? What of yours do you wish the kids would keep their mitts off?