It’s a common story that those of us who feel alone feel obliged to join a circus. I say common. Certainly was in the old days. Where my brain lives in a blissful separate existence from my body. A time, in my mind, where the song Entry of the Gladiators by Julius Fučík plays constantly. That’s the actual name of the typical circus music you think of when you think of a circus. You know the tune. Puts a huge smile on your face every time you hear it. Do do dododo do do do do do do do dododo do do…
Do I feel obliged to join a circus? You know, perhaps surprisingly, the thought has never actually occurred to me. In reality, I’d assume those of us who feel obliged to do so are the ones among us most stressed. Bankers. For example. Except they’re actually juggling with clubs instead of the lives of the poor people they made poor.
I wouldn’t be involved in an act with an animal. I could’ve worded that better. But the point is valid either way. It’s cruel. They should be let free. Into the wild. Not where they are. Think of the crowd. An audience mauling is unthinkable. I couldn’t be the master of my own ring. Behave, children. Something aerial? Well, I get sick in the air and sick when I’m moving. I’m a very sick person. I imagine I wouldn’t be good at it. Aerial silk is graceful. But silk is slippy and I’d probably fall. Contortion. Ooh, painful. Stilts? Top tip: never trust me with stilts. Juggling. I can’t juggle. Equilibristics. If I can’t do the juggle, what makes you think I can do bleedin’ equilibristics? I can barely say it. Plate spinning? Maybe, if they were paper plates. I don’t think that would work, though. Rolling globe. I’d just bounce off it. I’m not much of a daredevil, either. And I really don’t want to be a clown. I don’t want to scare little children. Especially nowadays, because a lot of them have knives. Although dying dressed as a clown is probably how I’m going to die anyway.
Despite this, joining a circus is something I simply couldn’t refuse. It would actually make my blogs interesting for once. Imagine the stories. ‘It was my first day at the circus. I and Florentina, the trapeze artist, skipped the performance and made out in my trailer’.
But what would I do? Not with Florentina. No, I already have a flowchart mapping out exactly what I’d do there. I meant at the circus. If I joined the circus, what would I do? I know.
I’d be the accountant.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.
Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:
The Indelible Life of Me
Hark Around The Words