The call of the besotted gets short-shifted by the searchers. Living so many years as a lookey-loo back then gives credence to the got it all talk. That point where the looking stopped is the answer to every "what's the point?"

The transition back needs no dry run. The biggest take is how peaceful the lounge still is. One man's acrimony is another's popped hood.

The realization yells in caps that that you're not only not gifted but you're damn lucky you survived those attempts that mainly the gifted can pull off. The sleep routine has replaced run 'til depleted but no need to say it woefully. The lookey-loo is one lucky duck.