Boring playgrounds

Playgrounds. Perhaps they're a place where one can seek many truths. Sky color, plants' state, animals' actions, people's personalities', children's development. But still. It is a place of such complete and utter boredom. I can watch the same kid (even if it is mine) swinging only a number of times, before I wish for a private jet or even a huge, superficial crow, to come and rescue me. And replace me of course; I would never leave my child unattended.

I will never make amends with stillness. I cannot resemble a tree, and all those parents around me are tree mocks, even if they engage themselves in conversation, even if they run around with spoonfuls of  half-eaten mashed vegetables, trying to stuff their sprouts.

Oh what a crap parent I am, you must think. Well, it is for this crapness' avoidance that I force myself to endure. And I swing in, swing out, day in, day out...