I am fighting for room-"literally"

Here I sit this morning, still in my sweats, the husband and kids are gone, the house is quiet and I try and stretch out on the bed- I can't. Dunton, my white lab has taken over my side of the bed. Molly, our little Rez dog, ( adopted from the dumpsters of Chinle on the Navajo Reservation) is curled up on the otherside of the bed and our big Newfoundland/lab is snoring on the floor.
Jon calls me the "dog lady"- which is a loving insult- because when we lived in Durango, across the street, there was a infamous "cat lady", who lived in a big Victorian, filled to the brim with trash, old newspapers, boxes and such, I think you could get to one room literally through narrow tunnels through the rubbish.
Her car, an old Scout was the same, filled to the brim with old newspapers and salad bar containers she would use to feed the cats nightly in designated spots in the back alleys of Durango and spend her social security on cat food.
Jon would always help her with her taxes and such and we would take goodies to her on occasion, but always the conversations were outside on the side walk, I think I made it in about two feet in her house and my eyes and lungs couldn't take it anymore.
She got a wound on her leg and had to be commited to the hospital for a while, the Sheriff taking the  opportunity to clear out some of the cats- can still see the deputies getting their  Haz-Mat gear to go inside.
So you see why Jon saying "Dog Lady" has some meaning to it. Well here I sit and I am trying to keep Dunton from using the laptop as a pillow.
I find myself "fighting for room in the big sense of the word- what spot do I want in the universe, what spot does God want me to have and then thinking does He even care or need me to have a spot at all, a spec on His eternal time line.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I don't have a "label" ( daughter, college student, wife, mother) My girls are becoming independent, my husband giving me room and time to do my own thing, my friends, their kids growing up too, are pursuing their own interest- all leaves me this Fall with the quesiton, I could be anything I want, what do I want to be, where do I want to make room for myself.
And than I think "life is not as profound and calcuated as I am making it, just get on the road and walk- stop worrying where you will end up."
I think I am motivated in the fear of what will I be looking back on when I'm 80- or...... will I be just known as the "dog lady" and the sheriff will be coming to clear out my house with Haz Mat suits!
( that last bit truly was just for emphasis- you would be very comfortable having dinner over here and not fear for your life, I promise! maybe have a few dog hairs on you but thats all- at this point, look me up in ten years, forty? )