I live across the street from a park. It seemed like a selling point at the time I signed the lease but, after the first few weeks go by and you remember that you aren’t athletic, it loses its appeal. For me it’s a bit like living across the street from a guy who stands outside your window pointing and yelling, “You’re a loser!”
They’re always a group of sit-com-ish friends playing wiffle-ball. Matching windbreakers playing tennis. Whole Polo teams show up on Wednesdays and somehow, after I move past measuring the circumference of my thighs and weighing myself, they also make me feel bad for not owning a boat. Dogs and the occasional drug deal are the only things I look forward to.
I thought it would be cool living by a park. You could just go there. Do park stuff whenever you want.
I went over there once. “Yep. I’m in a park. My house is right over there. I’m thirsty.”
I used to wish I were more outgoing and willing to run for long periods of time each day in an endless pursuit of good health. Why was shot put already written on my list of events at the 7th grade mandatory track-meet?
Whatever it is it’s the same reason why, instead of riding my bike as a kid, I’d turn it upside-down in the driveway and pretend it was a cake factory.