The workspace hijack

In light of recent developments, mostly on the study front, I thought about issuing a statement amongst friends along the lines of: I’m going underground for a bit. By way of apology for being a bit shit. Shit at being sociable and keeping in touch. And just a bit shit in general. And then I remembered that I’m pretty much underground already, as far as extracurricular stuff goes. And probably more than just a little bit shit at all the stuff I’d like to be less shit at. So the memo’s sort of pointless.

I remember a while back my sister saying her personal comms fell by the wayside when a small person entered the fray. I commiserated, sort of, in an abstract way.

Please don’t consider this a blanket apology if you’re in any way on the receiving end of my shitness. If you are, I plan on one day joining you (maybe one day soon!), one on one, for one or several beverages in an adult-only environment, and I will issue you with your own unique, highly personalised, how-shit-am-I apology, retrospectively. Once I am less shit, less frazzled, less covered in shit (and by shit I don’t mean actual shit, just shit of the toothpaste and Weetbix variety smothered all down one arm unbeknownst to me until I’m sitting in a mid-morning meeting and happen to extend my peripheral vision beyond its usual bleary myopia), more Zen and more generally open-minded to happenings beyond my inbox/the kitchen/baby lunchbox/bill schedule. It’s gonna be awesome (and you may need to see me to my taxi afterwards, and possibly even pay for my taxi… and then I’ll issue you a whole new apology some time after).

Although I’m ever-resistant to baby pimping and mommy-blogging (but – disclaimer – I do love me a good mommy blog), please accept the following photo essay as an explanation of sorts.

Here is my home workspace, and a fairly good indication of its regular (read: daily) hijacking. Here is my excuse for every “What are you doing this weekend…?”  and “Are you still writing?” (Although admittedly the latter is a question  that gets asked less frequently these days.)

So your laptop’s out of action. Big deal. Want a pen?

This email you need to send… just how important is it, really? I’ll trade you 5 minutes of email time for an hour of YouTube Peppa Pig. Deal? (Okay, kiddo, deal.)

What do you call this, then? Notes for the next novel? This isn’t a patch on That’s not my puppy…

So this is Windows 8? That’s all very well, but how the hell do you log into this thing?