The Golden Age of Bliss

The Golden Age of Bliss
As I relaxed on my bed with two layers of sheets on me preparing to retire for the day I began to wonder about life. I began to philosophize and discuss the wonders of being a child once more, murmuring out loud to myself until the restless caffeine addict in my head decides to shut me down for the night and bless me with a good night’s sleep for once in this wretched  midsummer ‘s night. I never comprehended the magnitude of how long the night was or how long we are virtually paralyzed at the mercy of those things and peoples in our homes; don’t get me wrong I’m not some leper, I actually rarely find time to sleep on weekends and if I do I’m usually lying still so that I won’t wreck my vocal cords by all the forthcoming vomit induced by the alcohol which I have previously consumed that fateful night. However I have never had the inconvenient opportunity to actually witness the darkness around me (not much goes on.) Other than the occasional sound which that damn refrigerator makes and the occasional unexplained noise which occurs outside my room. I find that putting my brain to work at such a time as three o’clock in the morning is most detrimental towards the anticipation where I black out and wake up the next morning mysteriously aroused (sexually), with what feels like more barbed wire on the sides of my face and only remembering remnants of the dream which I had previously had before joining all of you again in the waking world, if you’re still wondering the “black out” part is to sleep.
So to aid to my inevitable demise and deterioration this hungry mind ponders about a time where things were trouble-free, parents where undemanding and everything fell into place. That time for me would have been 1997-1999, back then I was just another nose picking, mucus eating, grass eating, trouble making and annoying kid and I loved it! For all of you out there in story land don’t get me wrong childhood isn’t a walk in the park I am not saying that it is, furthermore we all have different interpretations of our times as a child this is simply mine.
It’s times like these where I tend to over glamorize my stint in childhood. I remember all of the good times none of the bad times like where I scraped my knee on the playground, twisted my ankle while running, or falling repeatedly on my first two wheeled bicycle while trying to master the nuisance only to see my father blatantly trying to keep a straight face while helping me back up into that immense torture contraption also known as a bike.
I remember those times where my father came to visit us from the city always bearing gifts; I used to go mad the whole week before his arrival trying to figure out what he would bring the coming weekend, now? Not so much.  See, reader? He used to work as a dentist in the city and my mom stayed in a small town caring for her aunt whose health was declining and would soon die, she did die two years after we moved out of her residence. But before that I could do no wrong in the eyes of those who knew me....
Apologies to all of you out there in story land I’ve come up with a little writer's block; also its 4:34 AM at this time in Toronto I should get some sleep. I hope that if you made it to this point you enjoyed it... in a rather sinister way! BWAHAHAHAHA Thanks for reading! (Sorry for the spelling mistakes and errors I’m not working at full capacity right now)
-Alejandro