Thursday, February 18, 2010

A change is as good as therapy

Things have changed in the Fibro. I’m writing this at a new desk. Very new. As in, moved in this afternoon new. Which means that I’ve had to tidy my office (to find my old desk so that we could move it out) and, gulp, turn off my computer for a few hours.

I have come to the conclusion that internet access is becoming a problem for me. I keep telling myself that I can stop anytime I want, but the truth is that I get a bit scratchy when separated from my inbox for too long. I’m not sure what I’m worried about. It’s not like earth-shattering missives are hitting my inbox on a regular basis. More, I think, that I might miss out on something.

When you work at home, the internet is what ties you to the world. Going nuts listening to the In The Night Garden music (and I do, I can assure you)? Leave the room, click ‘check mail’ and there’s always the chance that there may be that satisfying ‘ping’ that tells you that someone in the adult world is thinking about you. If only to tell you about Accor’s latest hotel specials or how you can send money to a nice man in Nigeria. It’s all about possibilities.

But I’m back now. Safely plugged in, with acres of impossibly neat new desk to inspire me. I even have drawers now – something other than a tin can to keep my unruly collection of pens, cables and – strangely enough – scalpels in.

A new desk is also a sign of possibilities. So what if the old one didn’t become the home to The Great Australian Novel. This one, with its battered 1940s appeal (bringing to mind weathered, bespectacled, be-hatted clerk bent over fountain pen rather than be-polo shirted, be-frizzed journalist sitting at computer), could be The One. The font of inspiration that makes it all happen.

Well, that’s what I tell myself to make up for all the upheaval that its arrival caused. I am never happy when my personal space is invaded and my study is the most personal space I have in the Fibro. Like a shell that I draw around myself, with mysterious piles of paper on every surface. When those are disturbed, my feathers are well and truly ruffled.

Which is why I’m soothing myself with notions of importing the Stacked Paperback wallpaper from (pictured). Piles and piles of books that take up no space at all – and can never be moved.

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