Perhaps lured by the cutesy bunny statues I have on my front porch, a furry brown creature with a white puff of a tail has taken up residence under my hedge. I expect she will soon have baby bunnies and now remember to hold the leash very tightly when we pass by that section of my path on our walks. Chienne often sniffs and desperately wants to chase, her white paws gripping frantically for purchase as the rabbit hops away, quick and graceful.
Once I've convinced my canine companion to stop yanking at my arm, she looks at me balefully from her one seeing eye.
"Elusive," I tell her before leaning down to rub her head. "But we don't hurt bunnies."
There are moments of relative clarity - when all is still and peaceful and I feel I'm doing something worthwhile. More often, the wind blows and disturbs the surface, leaving me with mere glimpses of what I think might be.
"I have a doctorate," I nearly said. "I'm smart and talented and focused. And I just spent an hour listening to you say, 'move that over. Change that font. Alter that color.' Are you fucking kidding me?"
Reminding myself that my job is stable and I'm making more than I would in an academic role and that I do rather enjoy what I do, I simply reverted to my "OK" and "Sure" that I use when someone is irritating me to an insane degree.
My performance review was at 6:30 Saturday morning. I am officially "excellent" and will be promoted to 'bear' from 'cub' and there's some chance I'll make more money. Never fear - I shall go attack HR as soon as I find time and energy.
For the moment, I'm feeling uneasy with it though. While I normally embrace quiet weekends in the office, I felt my skin crawl when I spent the afternoon at my desk yesterday. I screamed (literally - it was quite dramatic) when someone approached me from behind as I stood at the printer. But my thoughts were wrapped around an upcoming Event I'm hosting and I was idly drafting welcome letters to my VIPs while waiting for informational packets to emerge from the machine in color. The office was dark, only a few safety lights providing illumination, and I was leaning forward to peer at the pages when he came into our printing alcove.
"I'm sorry," he said, looking as shocked as I did when I replied to his friendly 'hello' with a sharp sound of startled horror. I shook my head, hand to my heart, and realized I was more creeped out than soothed by the quiet that held more hiding places for evil than opportunities for advancement.
I closed my laptop and climbed the stairs around 10 last night, I finished swallowing my anti-depressant and touched Chienne's head as she trotted past me to head upstairs.
"Elusive," I decided and hoped the bunny was warm enough before curling under the covers with my dog.