This week, I suffered one of those losses we all dread. Without any warning, my three-and-a-half-year-old laptop hummed, blue-screened and collapsed. Despite frantic resurrection attempts, it did not recover. Within hours, IT pronounced it dead.

Naturally, such a loss provokes strong emotions. Some of these I was prepared for: the heart-wrenching anxiety of checking my back-ups, and the frustration of hours drudging through the latest computer lingo to find a suitable replacement. But what surprised me was how addicted I had become to the ability to log on any time, any place. Without the freedom to work in cafes and e-mail from home, I felt unproductive and out of touch.

But after the worst withdrawal symptoms had passed, I wondered whether full technological access comes at a cost. An omnipresent tool can make you constantly feel guilty for not working. Before its demise, my laptop would fill my home with whispers: “Come on, your thesis deadline is just three months away! Write, write, write!” Glumly, I'd obey, only to stare torpidly at the screen through the night instead of sleeping. Now, deprived of the 'freedom' of working at home, I'm pushed to make the most of my desktop hours at the office. And for the first time in ages, without my laptop's accusatory glare, free time actually feels free.