I never thought I’d feel this way. Not about *this*. I worked at that plant for forty years. Forty. Years. Got up at 4:30 AM every single workday, ate the same breakfast, drove the same route, did the same thing with the same people (most of them anyway). It was…predictable. Comforting, even. Hard work, sure, but it had a rhythm. A cadence. And I was damn good at it. Everyone knew what I did, what I was supposed to do, what I was capable of. Now? Now I wake up when my body decides to. Sometimes it’s 4:30. Sometimes it’s 6. And then what? Just…nothing. The quiet is deafening. I used to fantasize about quiet. All those machines humming, the clatter, the yelling over noise. Now I’d kill for it. Just to know someone else is *doing* something. And don’t even get me started on the town. Small town life. Everyone knows your business. Fine when you have a purpose. “Oh, there’s Betty, off to the plant.” Now it’s “Oh, there’s Betty, just…out.” Just… *existing*. I tried to tell Joan down at the diner, when she asked what I was up to, and I just…I couldn’t. Couldn’t say "nothing." Couldn't say "watching the paint dry." (Though I’m pretty sure I have watched paint dry more than once this week.) My entire identity, my entire… *being* was tied to that place. And to taking care of David. Always David. For thirty years. Getting him ready for school, making sure he had dinner, driving him to physical therapy, making sure he took his pills. Every single day. Even when he was grown, it was the same routine, just…different. But it was *my* routine. It was *my* purpose. And now he’s gone, and so is my job. So here I sit, 2 AM, staring at the ceiling, because what else is there to do? My brain just keeps going, circling, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with all these hours. All this *freedom*. It’s a cage. A big, wide-open, empty cage. And I hate it. I hate that I hate it. I should be happy, shouldn't I? Sleeping in, doing what I want. But I don't know what I want. I haven't known what I want since I was twenty-five and David was born. And now… now I’m just lost. And tired. So damn tired of being lost.