Mob Rule?

I am alone on acres of carpet, legs in the air and happy like you would not believe. Somewhere in the house there is a responsible adult but they could be on the moon. I love it here; so much to do and so much to see. What to play with next? Who do I love the most and where is tomorrow when you want it to turn up so quickly? I am too small to see over the window sill so the whole of outdoors is just daylight and trees, the country stretching away to the distance under threat of rain. The wind has the trees in some sort of riot, making shadows and white noise to end everything. This is me right back at the beginning, the start of memory. Well the start of memory that means something. Maybe I can go back further but that would just be fragments. This is the first day I can remember getting up, what the bedroom looked like - it was a bunk bed - where I had my breakfast, what I played with and how I was annoyed at going to bed before the light had gone. Maybe there is some hook which gives a sentimental quality to reminders of these first memories; trees swishing and the promise of drizzle in early spring are always triggers for some deep regret as missing opportunities then which would seem so inappropriate now. I often wonder about what it would be like to have my mind now trapped in the small boy I was.

That's something else - sometimes I think I was a girl like in the Dali painting, or maybe one of twins who only half survived. At this age I thought all children stayed children forever and had no thoughts about where adults came from and with my mother being a doctor. Adults were simply vehicles for food and shelter and combatting boredom, I loved them in a very simple way because of that. I want some sort of retrospective camera to let me take photographs of the world then. I see it from child's eye level now. All that having to climb on the furniture to see out of the window. The real trouble now is that I have no idea when I became me now. All the time I think that I ought to grow up soon, like I keep thinking I should stop buying Private Eye. And then all the serious things creep up on me and the thought that I am still six or younger vanishes under the complexities of reality. Funny as well, that I cannot see where my brother is. He joined me as co-pilot on many games until he learned to fly and make money himself. But this day he must still be toddling or asleep or out.

And then more things, like the thought of my parents having anxieties which I could not understand. How did they live through the cold-war? All that was filtered out and maybe it drove them mad or worse but I never saw any of it except afterwards. All this caused so many problems. But that is not relevant to this rainy-day memory is it? I am lying on the floor with my legs in the air, drawing or drinking tea and talking.