THE FACE ON THE TWENTY DOLLAR BILL

It is beyond me, I think, to make any sense of how I'm feeling at the moment. I stand in the middle of my room, looking for something, but I forget what it is halfway through looking. What is this feeling supposed to mean? I've been smoking too much again, my voice getting deep. Maybe I'm this much closer to being a lounge singer the way I've always wanted. I'm still all of the things I am, even when I don't feel like it. I'm a musician and a writer. For goodness sake. Didn't somebody tell me the rest of my life began soon? Well, where is it? When do I start changing?