Why I banned my phone from my bedroom (kinda)

I bought an alarm clock. Except that it’s not just an alarm clock. It’s a little glimpse of; a little grasp at freedom, independence and some well-needed down time.

Now there is no way I could completely banish my phone from my room. This chronic worrier would suffer from chronic guilt if I was to miss a vital middle-of-the-night phone call and plus, who on Earth can put washing away without listening to music?

So the phone will be put to bed before I am. The incessant scrolling, switching between the same three apps multiple times and refreshing feeds pointless, all before even ripping off my duvet is driving me mad. Why do I give a sh*t what whatserface from middle school is doing, where she’s working, where she is on holiday, what her #OOTD is? I never spoke to her at school and I certainly haven’t since. I don’t know why I care, but I do. So I sit, and I scroll. I check the time and I’ve wasted 30 minutes.

My phone is indispensible. It’s my calendar, it reminds me what I need to do, it’s my SatNav, it’s quite often my camera and I frequently blog on it if I’m on the go however, it’s a time-sucking, soul-destorying chunk of glass and metal and I’ve resolved to keep out of arms reach in my bedroom until it’s needed.

Or at least until I’ve gotten dressed.

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