Normal?

A fellow blogger (Ugh, don't like that word; sounds like something your dog does when it's eaten too much grass) asked me what a normal day in the life of a forign correspondent is like. The only answer I can give is the question, "What is normal?" For me, it's normal not to know what the next day will bring. Not to know if the next street you walk down will hide kidnappers or some scene that fills you with wonder. I think, for many of us people filled with a sense of restlessness, that that blindness is a sort of rapture. Life on the edge is so much more real, more distinct, more alive than the "normal" life that my friends back home lead. To some, my way of life would be an unendurable torture. A very close friend of mine who knows me as well, if not better, than I know myself, can not fathom my decision to live and work here. To her (and you know who you are T) I am a nutcase - someone who needs serious therapy and possibly electrotherapy. I can't argue. I know that if I was forced to return to my former safe life, you'd most likely see me on the evening news, "An unknown man has lept from the Lions Gate bridge wearing only a speedo and a bulletproof vest."