A train, a ballpark, history, bitching, and me.
Was in kind of a weird mood tonight, so decided to walk through Lakeview tonight and run an errand at Belmont and Clark, one that could've otherwise waited until the next day. I walked down Sheffield almost the entire way, keeping me not only parallel to a century-old working train track for a mile and back, but also walking next to a century-old ballpark part of the time, a whole series of century-old buildings now being used for a variety of purposes, Irish pubs next to Asian restaurants next to French cafes next to Swedish furniture stores, hipsters and sports freaks and creative-class assholes biking in 40-degree weather, all of it overseen by a series of blinking blue police cameras at every stoplight. And all of this, mind you, while having an iPod strapped to my skull, listening to an hour-long drum-n-bass mix put together by a couple of teens in their dorm room in Manchester, England, and while nice and high on top of everything else.
Once again it occurs to me to say, "If I can walk out my door whenever I'm in a weird mood and be in the middle of all that within five minutes of walking, why the fuck am I constantly whining and complaining about my life? I should treasure the fact that I live in such a place ad have the kind of life that I can do that any evening I'm in a weird mood, given how many people out there desperately wish they could be in that situation. Your life ain't so fuckin' terrible, Jason, when all is said and done, and you should really do more acknowledging of that and less bellyaching."
End of line.
