I’m sitting in bed, working on an assignment with my computer notebook cradled in my lap. Outside rain splashes against the skylight and a 1,000 small droplets slap repetatively against the window. I can hear the hard thud of metal hitting dirt, as Eric sends the pick ax into the ground, 10 or 20 times in a row. smack-smack-smack-smack. He’s been working on the yard since 8 a.m. and it’s 6 in the evening. I go over to the window and stick my fingers between two slats in the aluminum blinds. I peer out through the screen and say, “I think you need to be institutionalized. You know it’s raining out. You can come inside now!” He nods his head and props the ax upside down leaning with one hand, “No, I want to finish this tonight. Besides, the rain feels good.” His face splits into a silly grin as I shake my head in disbelief, remove my fingers from the blinds, and return back to bed.