Night is the lonliest not-alone time of the day. The bustle is gone, chores done, and I rub lotion onto my sore hands. The quiet is deafening to me, being so near other people, yet no one notices it’s my voice they don’t hear…really, it’s just like I’m not there, instead, there’s a ghost or shadow of an energy that once was vibrant, sassy, sometimes even sexy, a now dark matter taking up space…Sometimes, I wish I had something in common with someone in my house, then maybe, just maybe, I won’t feel like such an ASS with a crazy, big crack.