i used to wake up at 4:30 on the dot every weekday morning for 37 years. alarm on my phone because the old wind-up one just couldn’t cut it anymore. always hit the snooze once. always. then coffee black no sugar two cups while i stared at the blueprints spread across the kitchen table. the smell of sawdust and fresh concrete and metal — that was my perfume. my crew they knew me. they knew how i liked things. johnny always had my coffee ready if i was running late. martha knew exactly where to put the rebar. we built things. real things. buildings that would stand for fifty, a hundred years. we made sure of it. now it’s 2 am. i’m scrolling through pictures of the old site on my ipad. the one down on main street. the big high-rise. that was my baby. every single beam, every window, i walked those floors before anyone else. checked every rivet, every screw. i knew every one of those guys, every woman on that team. their kids names. who was having trouble at home. we were a unit. i was their leader. and yeah i ran a tight ship. you had to. but they respected me. they listened. and we built some damn good stuff together. now my husband asks me if i want to go to home depot for fun. home depot. and i just stare at him. like he doesn’t get it. he never got it. i turn 60 next year. my hair is grey. my hands are still calloused but they don’t ache like they used to because they aren’t doing anything. and i look in the mirror and it’s like i’m invisible. no one sees me. the grocery store clerk just stares blankly when i try to make a joke. the world just keeps moving. without me. without my crew. without my blueprints. without the smell of sawdust and metal. and i miss it so much it hurts my chest. i just… i don’t know what to do with all this. this quiet. this nothing. the clock just keeps ticking. 2:17 am now. still no sleep.