My last few hours of blissful ignorance

It's time for me to get ready for bed, but that means when I wake up it will be time for me to go to the doctor to see what lies in store for me.

It's like that TV show from the 70s -- Let's Make a Deal. That was the one where the contestents got to pick which door they wanted and behind it was some prize of some sort. I swear there was also a part where they could climb up a pile of wrapped presents and pick one, not knowing what it contained. Actually, I'm sort of like that.

I like the idea of a gift, somewhat even more than what it contains. In example, when I was 8 I woke up on Christmas morning at 2am (just after my parents had gone to sleep BTW) and being scared of the dark I woke my brother to see if there were presents (my brother having told me the truth about Santa a couple of weeks before). We went downstairs and the living room was piled with presents. I was just so amazed and full of joy at the look of it. I told my brother that we had to get back to bed and we could open them in the morning. Not but 5 minutes after we went back upstairs I heard the sound of wrapping paper tearing back downstairs -- he had gone back down and was opening like a madman. It made me sad, I sort of liked just that pause, the not knowing, the potential, the moment that it was.

I don't know what's behind door number 1 or 2 or any other door. I'm just taking in my last few moments with my wrapped present.