I don't think my life will ever return to normal, because I can't remember what "normal" was.
What was it I wanted to do? I know there was a goal, a purpose of some sort way back then. What was it? I had to take a detour for some reason. And then I got interested in the scenery along the way of the detour and decided to stay until another detour came up. That one was not as nice as the other one but it was the road I was on so I stayed on it.
I knew there was a main road for me but I was on detours now and eventually I would get back to it. I thought. But then the going got tough and I had to unload some things I was taking with me for the goal I was going to get to. So I had to adjust. Set a different goal. Then another detour came up and I found myself in a foreign place with nothing to do. So I made some choices just to keep going and that defined my life. At the time.
People began to hire me to do things I didn't know how to do. So the goal became to learn them so I could keep working which I had to do to reach my goal, whatever it was.
There were more roads to take and more detours off of them. I got rid of more stuff because I couldn't remember why I had it. I acquired more stuff because I thought I needed it to achieve my purpose in life if, in fact, I had one.
I decided that there was no purpose in life, or if there was I didn't know what it was, so I became an actor hoping to find out what life was all about. If someone asked me why I was an actor I would answer that it was to achiever my purpose in life, If they asked me what that purpose was I would answer "Duh." People came and went, family, friends, enemies, and I still didn't know what any of it meant.
As far as I can see, life is going from one room to another, putting things that don't belong to each other in a box, having a bunch of phone numbers on pieces of paper of people I don't remember, stacking failures and frustrations in a corner and letting them gather dust, pasting the shards of a terrifying and exhilarating life in a scrap book which doesn't get opened, laughing at the silliness of all the busy decades, and every now and then, in a moment of reverie wondering what it was I wanted way back at the beginning of my vagabond journey.
You take good care of yourself now, you hear me?