Clown

I woke up this morning to find a bag of balls on my front stoop. They were all the balls I’ve ever owned in my life. Ones I played catch with, with my dad; ones that went over fences never to be retrieved; ones that hung on the Christmas tree during the first year of my first marriage… Right up until the ball I was playing with yesterday – one of the three I was juggling at the kid’s birthday party. Yes, I’m a clown. The only one they missed is the ball on my nose. Of course, I sleep with that one.

The bag of balls is someone’s idea of a dirty trick, obviously. Probably someone I left in the sewer system…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: If I could edit this I’d leave a hint somewhere that shows earlier that my stream of consciousness ended up at a killer clown.

And that’s what SoCS is all about! Check it out here: http://lindaghill.com/2016/03/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-1216/

Lacking the resources to fund a circus is something I find most frustrating. I want orange and black tigers jumping through flaming hoops, clowns riding miniscule unicycles and wearing costumes of red and yellow and blue and green; I want enormous gray elephants and tightrope walkers in white spandex against the indigo blue of the big top tent, and scantily clad girls in chartreuse sequins standing up on the backs of horses with crimson plumed headgear.

But mom says maybe when she gets a new job… Then all I’ll require is a back yard to host my spectacle.