When we moved to South Wales we knew I would need a space for working.
I am classified as a 'travelling employee'. I don't have a desk anywhere. I don't travel every day.
So it is inevitable I need a base. Somewhere to charge my laptop. Somewhere to work.
And so this is my desk.
In the office of our home.
As I cleared the office out (again) at the weekend I joked with Mr J about how many black sacks could be filled from my office.
The office contains my craft stuff, it did contain 13 years of work documents, it still contains books- which I love, which I read for uni, which I cannot yet be parted from.
And think about a new space, with wallpaper, a storage unit, a desk which doesn't require 'everything', along with the gift I hope might may be making a 'happy birthday' way to me.
That a room in my home is taken up with 'work'.
The imposition on our lives.
I am back in the catch-22 of job satisfaction.
To aim for jobs nearer to home, the 9 to 5 lifestyle.
Or the job which means I spend at least one night a week away.
For the compromise of days working from home.
Closer to the little people.
Work entwined with life.
What to do with the space?
To devote it entirely to hobbies and interests?
To knock a wall down and extend the lounge to the length of the home?
Or to admit working from home does have more positives than not...
Bagsy the drawing board.