The murderous night, many people exhale and never draw another sip, that part of night plagues me. Time I never felt so alone. I have the weight of dumb-bells pressing on my shoulders. My mother, my father. They looked out for me. What's best, what's worst. A handicapped man, a disabled truck driver no longer able to drive, to decide, lives in a fog. This man only able to look out for himself - it takes his whole nucleus to keep one foot side-by-side lurch. But there was a Ted talk on FB and it said that in Africa people say "I wouldn't be me without you." And I try to hug these words like I would the Pyrenees. I don't know how to build this house, how to manage 30 acres, how to raise goats, butcher goats, eat goats, have 3 horses, 4 dogs. I don't know how to maintain this thing that bucks and kicks like a camel in a sand storm before hit lays down and buries its face. Yet, no one else would come here with me. In the mornings there are the young things, the silky soft things, thick black mane on Kalypso, the smooth brown and white spots of my blind baby kid. Three baby kids hop and race and race and race like outboard motors stuck on high and I feel my lips smile.