Eighty-Seven

Day Eighty-Seven:  Late Late Late

When we first moved to the big city when I was six we lived in a pre-suburbia area where my parents still live now, and behind out houses there weren’t other houses like there are now, there were just large piles of dirt and grass and what we would call the Playlands.  I remember playing every kind of game imaginable out there:  Tarzan, House, African Safari, all of the imaginative games that required danger and high stakes and joy.  We used to run in the summer until bath-time, and every spring Isti and I would get stuck in the mud to our knee’s in the same place for three years in a row.  We had to be carried into the house by our fathers in order to get free.

Those were the good old days when playing imaginary games was socially acceptable for our age.  Ceara and I were speaking about this last night and how the day that those imagination games became un-fun was a sad day for all of us.  We used to play a variety of games in her basement, and to spare her and I further embarrassment I will not include much more detail other than Harry Potter Hotel with one rollerblade each in an unfinished basement until the wee hours of the morning was a weekly occurance.  Those really were the days where we had our best memories.

Not saying last night wasn’t fabulous don’t get me wrong.  I love the new and improved weekend nights where we no longer have card nights with ACDC and rootbeer floats (which were disgusting) we now go for wings or a meal and then beers, lots and lots of beers, and laugh a lot and sleep earlier (which happens everytime no matter how hard we try to pull-it-pullin-it all nighter) and it is still the same us, just less imagination more gossip and bars.  I think I miss the imagination games because they lasted longer to be honest, and I lived a lot closer to Ceara at this time, now we’re a half hour drive away (when Maggie B doesn’t get lost).

I enjoy challenging my imagination but at the same time it’s good to live in the real world now and again.  I miss childhood, when friendships were way simpler and I never had to worry if I had said or done something wrong really, or if I meant enough to someone, or anything like that.  I remember when things were simpler, and I’m not really complaining, but it would be nice to just lose some of the drama that comes with growing up.  Is that what I am now that I’m a twenty-something, a Grown Up capital G? I guess it’s time to embrace that.

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