Why do we willingly give up the perks of childhood? Sometimes I lie on my back in bed and think it'd be nice to have a mobile above me to bat at. I still enjoy the feel of a crayon in my hand and long to sneak a taste of paste every so often, or a pacifier to soothe my stress, or someone to pat my back 'til I burp. But above all, I'd like to be able to get away with blowing off some steam by screaming my lungs raw.