We’re in the living room. Laptopping.
K is browsing fashion sites and I am doing an obsessive compulsive circuit of my usual haunts; making sure things are alright on the social networks, repeatedly. If you add enough of them to your armoury then by the time you’ve checked them all it can seem worth popping back to the first, in case anything has happened there in the meantime. And then the second…
I emit the odd snort if, for example, something I have done or said or said that I’ve done, and which I consider to be perfectly likeable, has not been liked. Or re-liked. Or sub-twitted. That kind of thing. K says something but I fail to take it in as I search for human interaction on the little screen in front of me.
Not a tweet. I have no private or direct messages. No hopeful, blinking icons, flashing notifications.
I peel my eyes painfully from the web and look up. The long white curtains are billowing – we’ve had a temperature drop and the air is genuinely fresh and a little cool. I’m sitting here in a woolly jumper! Good Irish weather, I told my students today, and they laughed. I’m certainly overdoing it with the jumper, but still. More