Meadow Park, Springfield

It sometimes helps on days like this to imagine a different fate as a way to jumpstart the sluggish biorythms. What if I’d been born into a New England preppy family and this morning I’m walking my twin golden retrievers, Brandy and Brooks, on the path that follows the rocky Maine coast where we have our summer cottage. I’ll go sailing later and admire how straight my hair is, even with the spray and humidity. In the evening I’ll enjoy civilized cocktails on the porch and laugh in a throaty, well-bred fashion. I would be stylish and idle and interesting in my espadrilles, instead of being a 41-year-old knocked up woman in an orange poncho doing a lame 20-minute walk with a pair of poop-eating dogs.

Cat poop consumed: yes

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

My dad recently referred to me as a “career woman,” which summoned visions of shoulder pads and officious heels, presentations in board rooms, and an angular body resistant to sensuality. I did not want to agree with this assessment. I still don’t. I’m a librarian, damn it, not a corporate moll. I am not profit-driven. When you work harder and longer around here all you get is tired. But here I am in the late afternoon walking my dog, having rushed home on the bus after office hours to squeeze in a little home time before my evening shift at the desk begins.  I can suddenly understand why there has been this so-called epidemic of high-powered women dropping out of the business world to stay home with their kids. When you have to work so hard to straddle the two worlds, the busy silly one full of politicking and striving and deadlines stops mattering very much. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if I stayed home and nurtured my dog? Ah hell, what do I know. He’d probably go crazy and so would I.

Cat poop consumed: yes