Badge on my Belly

“How the hell,” I said bitterly when I’d just made the left turn from my subdivision, “am I supposed to be a badge on my belly bear without a badge?” So I gritted my teeth in frustration and made a series of left turns to loop back home and grab the identification that hangs around my neck all day. Dad calls Care Bears different names – Heart on his Belly Bear, Rainbow on her Belly Bear and the like – so it pleases me to think ‘Badge on my Belly Bear!’ when I slip the lanyard around my neck like a good corporate employee.

Chienne was thrilled to see me when I returned and her head hung in disappointment when I patted her and promptly left again, 10 minutes later than I’d planned. Adam shared her disappointment, scolding some of us firmly at a morning meeting for not being prepared. I hate being in trouble and felt positively awful for not having a document prepared even though I asked if it was necessary and didn’t get a reply. Still. I screwed up again and my shoulders slumped accordingly.

I tried to recover, drafting a document as soon as I returned to my desk and beginning to make progress on several other tasks. I missed a meeting because the preceding one ran late, fell all over myself apologizing and made plans to drive across town to make up for it before heading home. Too tired to consider cooking – and wishing not for the first time that I had someone to deal with such tasks – I grabbed a pizza and made my way toward the big house with the pretty fence.

I did a few more hours of guilt-fueled work, Chienne nosing me a couple of times to rub her back and play tug with a rope toy, but she eventually settled on the loveseat next to me while I read and typed and answered more email. I sighed, realizing this is my life now. I submitted my final expense reports and believe I’m officially relocated. I had that moment of panic where my life felt like it was closing in on me. I felt trapped – by my love of this house and need to make enough money to afford it, by family that keeps me happily tethered to the Midwest.

“It must be time to stop for the night,” I told Chienne and she followed me up the stairs to the main level. I opened the door for her and she trotted out to the deck, pausing to glance back at me. Understanding the hint and obediently following her out, I took a seat in the falling darkness, glancing around the neighborhood and catching glimpses of her white nose and tip of her tail as she explored her yard. It was cool outside, having rained earlier today, and the breeze swept through leaves on trees, slightly masking the sound of crickets. Glancing around at the warm light glowing from windows of surrounding houses, I leaned back and crossed my legs.

“Call if you need anything,” Barb said last night after pointing out her house while her husband and puppy played with Chienne. “Even if you just get lonely and want to hang out. It’s hard to be alone.”

“I’m OK,” I said softly. “But thank you.”

It is hard to be alone. Work seems to take on this enormous importance for me without a husband or family to balance my perspective. Feelings of guilty disappointment linger – partially because I’m a little neurotic, but I’m also without major distractions. So while there are certainly benefits – I like sleeping in a little when I have late meetings, taking Chienne for lengthy walks along the paths in the neighborhood and confining my responsibilities to myself and my pets. (Mr. Sprout is settling in quite well. He seems to enjoy the space and is currently keeping watch through the screen door open to my bedroom deck.) But it can get lonely and scary and seem somehow not enough.

Deciding I was too tired for too much soul searching about long term goals and choices, I recalled that I put my badge in the cupholder of my car so I wouldn’t forget it again tomorrow. Deciding a better start might make a difference, I think it’s about time for sleep.