One of the problems with working from home, aside from the fact there are no watchful eyes forcing me to be mindful of how many biscuits I eat, is that success relies heavily upon self-motivation. Now, I’m good with deadlines, and always get work done on time. But, if I have a bit of extra time, rather than getting my work finished early so I can enjoy the finer things in life, I tend to just go on rightmove.
Does anybody else do this? Is it a socially acceptable modern pastime? Or am I some kind of house pervert? Perhaps. I do get excited when I see some good alcove shelving. I like the house we live in, but can’t help but gaze longingly at other houses. Especially the bigger ones.
Our house is fine. We bought it thinking it would be a nice little house for dinner parties, and to have friends over, and to be a married couple in. I mean, how much space do a married couple really need? And then we had a baby. And we got a cot, and a huge pram, and a ridiculously massive high chair. And soft toys, and developmental toys, and plastic toys and wooden toys. And board books, and story books and colouring books. And crayons, and pipe cleaners are paints. And a rocking horse, and a painting easel and a wooden train set. And a toy kitchen, and lots of jigsaws, and even more books.
And then our reasonably sized house was tiny and bursting at the seams with the stuff of childhood. And then it really didn’t feel very reasonably sized at all. And our previously perky house was starting to sag under the weight of family life. And the once white walls began to attract tomato-sauce-encrusted hands, and the odd bit of artistic expression in biro, and, well, it all started to look a bit lived in.
So, yes. I started to wonder about other houses. Newer houses, bigger houses, with less signs of toddler. I started to imagine a world where toys and television were kept separately. A land where parents sat down on the sofa at the end of a long day, and didn’t end up perched uncomfortably on a mountain of duplo, wooden blocks and jigsaw pieces. A house with a room that could be described as a lounge, rather than a giant room-sized toy box filled with junk.
Then the daydream became more vivid. I added in another room, an office. I started to imagine working on a desk, my desk, rather than the dining table. I imagined myself sitting down to write without the salt and pepper by my side. I imagined myself saying things like, “I’m in my office.” instead of “Oh balls, there’s a spaghetti hoop stuck in my laptop again.”
And now I find myself living two lives. One in this house, and another, roomier life in my imaginary house with extra rooms. I’m there now in fact, typing busily in my office. Oh, and I’m doing actual work, not just looking on rightmove or writing blog posts about my rightmove addiction. Or maybe I’m on Facebook, I don’t know, it’s a bit of a blurry daydream.
Does anyone else spend a scary amount of time on rightmove, or should I seek professional help immediately?
