I think I do?

To this day I still cannot remember much from my childhood. Memory being what it is, that could either mean that it was uneventful boring, uneventful horrific, or uneventful happy.

Uneventful boring would either have meant that I had some kind of childhood malaise that prevented me from exploring the world like my body was designed, or my environment gave me so little to explore that my mind found muchness in things that amuse it, because that is the way it was designed to do. Our environment abound to fascinate and enthrall, to captivate in natures radiant beauty and blind us in awe of existence. I can understand that in some children the beauty in nature can be the allure to lead them wandering off into the sunset, following the promise of a dream that's better than the one we left behind.

According to the elder in my care I was a dreamer, staring off to space and making never-ever journeys to never-never land, and though it sounds like kinda fun to leave it just like that, something never felt quite at ease. Not even when I found the pictures by the sea my mother made me pose, or heard that recent evidence suggest that day-dreaming is a good thing.Always has been.

I had childhood asthma, and though you may think that that would somehow explain it all, I must warn you that it's not at all what you may think, or think you ever have? Because you can't. As I doctor I know that I need air to breathe, and oxygen to make my muscles go and my mind to get out of slow and gear it up. I suspect I learned it as a fact even way back then when as a child I was struggling to get any.


Lack of oxygen will do that to you you know. It dulls the senses, dims the interest, limits the level of experience to just a droll. I believe I was staring out of windows a lot.

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