It's like swimming in the dark. Why, you ask. Always doing something I don't know how to do. Something with working night shift all of a sudden. Twelve hour nights. It draws calcium out of my bones. I become brittle. And there is the writing. Marketing. Reading. Open Mike, I as?. It is twenty years since I did an open mike, a poetry slam. Then I could rely on my looks at least. Now, not so much. Maybe I could puff the gray hair out and wear dark colors but that only goes so far. Five minutes the descriptions say. So, I get up on stage and say: I am reading from my book "Memories of a Female Trucker." Five minutes, and I can always read in one breath. I am sure I can still do that. There are no cigarettes in bars these days. I will miss the cigarettes. So, if I can get myself to drive to Seattle and do the open mikes, and if I acknowledge that I am loosing my job as a psychiatric nurse in one year and no one wants to even call me for an interview anymore, then I can move ahead to the horses. My mare is lying outside in the wind. She is lying on grass that is barely sprouting through the clods of dirt. There are patches of snow in the shadows. My mare has her green blanket on. She is fifteen. She would like a baby, yes, positively, she says. It is expensive. It is risky as are all pregnancies. Babies come at great cost. Small horses have boundless energy and razor sharp hooves. I have an email today: yes, O'donnell is standing at stud in Port Orchard. That is what it is called: Standing at Stud. The thought holds so much promise. The thought is like a pledge of faith that this life is worth continuing. In the free moments, Tony and I clear the dresser and plant rows of Walla Walla Sweet Onions and cover with chicken wire to keep the cat off. The neighbors will come to dinner tonight. I have the pie crust waiting in the refrigerator. This is something that I know how to do.