My pal Alex at the AWESOME BLOG Shedworking
posted this link today.
Suffice to say, it explains why the size on my office is going to be 10' x 10' (or 9.29 sq. metres). I don't want it big enough that anyone other than my dogs will be able to fit!!
Lynsey Thomas on homeworking
Cohabiting the office with a dog is all well and good, but my husband? That's quite another matter
Saturday November 24 2007
I have been a homeworker for three years now, and for the most part it works very well. I admit it did take a while to get used to the differences from office life, but nowadays I have an established routine that lends itself to a high level of efficiency work-wise. I know which doors to close so that I am not disturbed by the washing machine, when to ignore the door bell and how to mute out the sounds of the dog on a conference call. I can configure my router with one hand and change the toner in my photocopier with the other. So you can imagine my dismay when my husband announced he was becoming a contractor and would subsequently also be working at home; "unduly perturbed" probably sums it up best.
And ever since that fateful day he has been here 24/7, sitting at an adjacent desk, eating into my bandwidth, tying up the phone line and typing excessively loudly on his keyboard. During the first week I wondered whether this was the end of my home working days, or my marriage. We have actually worked in the same office before but it was large, and full of other people I didn't have to go home to and spend the entire evening with. Other people whose very presence, whose participation in simple breathing, did not seem to drive me mad.
The problem, I think, is that as human beings we cling to routine and from that, the small pleasures that we know come each day; whether it be crossing Waterloo bridge on the bus to work, or the first day they start serving Christmas sandwiches in the shops. My homeworking pick-me-ups were simple; that cup of tea at 10am, the square of chocolate at 2pm.
Then, all of a sudden, my husband was there, making tea at inopportune times and eating all the chocolate. He takes pens from my desk, he borrows my power lead, he uses my mobile charger and all this from a grown man who is so territorial that he was moved to write his name on his stapler with correction fluid. I ask you, what's a girl to do?
The poor dog is now very confused. My working hours used to constitute our alone time together. He has a love of lying under my desk while I work and only comes up to sniff any output from the printer. Now, his master is home, striding around and talking mannishly on the phone. His loyalty is such that he must follow him, but between this and my endless printing and trips to the toilet he is constantly getting up and lying down. Subsequently, come 6pm the canine is completely exhausted.
I thought that I was hiding my annoyance quite well until my husband, in his wisdom, announced that I must be a very difficult person to work with as I am constantly stressed. True as this may be, quite frankly I had had enough. With all the regularity and comfort of my working environment destroyed, I was as dishevelled as the dog. Did I handle the situation in a mature way? I cannot be sure of the answer to that. I can say that I responded with several choice words (that I would not normally use on a fellow worker), quite a large amount of exhaling and stamping of feet and, to finish off, an encore of "Get out of my office!".
So, how has the situation been resolved? Well, he had to go. I needed the tranquillity restored to my working environment and he needed not to be married to "the most uptight woman in Britain". Obviously my solution of choice was for him to go out and get a proper job, but as that wasn't going to happen I settled with him finding an alternative office.
Now, with suitable arrangements made and peace thus restored, life has returned to normal and I put this question to you: who exactly does use a dining room for its correct purpose?