I should have joined the circus. The workday is over. I spent most of it staring at the wall, and then in a last ditched effort at productivity, I put washi tape on an otherwise dull folder.

This successful writer—with—loads—of—hashtag—2021—goals accomplishment left me with the idea that things would be better if I’d joined the circus.

The mind, my mind, continues to be a mystery.

Is joining the circus even a thing anymore? And what makes me think I have the hutzpah (thank you, Aunt Hannah) to be a circus performer? If I can’t even edit two measly chapters, if renewing Jack’s license is monumental, how in the hell am I going to swallow fire or grow a beard?

Joining the circus is often that throwaway phrase for running away or making a screeching right turn into the unknown. Still, I wonder if this kind of flippery (I’m making up words now) is annoying for real circus professionals. And more importantly, when they have a shit day, do they say, “Ugh, I should have joined the bar association,” or “I should have gone to dental school?”

These are the interesting and less than helpful questions I ask Jack as I blow out my office candle, turn off the Edit this Crap Already playlist, and head inside for the night.

I can’t walk a tightrope, and I am not double-jointed. Writing is the only thing I know how to do. So, while today’s washi tape project was technically a win and I can pawn off my staring at the wall bit as “brainstorming,” none of this is going to fix my work in progress.

Maybe I’ll start small tomorrow, like say a paragraph or glitter tights and a hula hoop.

It’s all about the choices.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Canopy bed.

insecurity life reality Routine thoughts writers writing

4 Comments Leave a comment

  1. I blame this feeling of “joining the circus” as part of the “Winter Humdrums”—better yet, blame it on the Covid. My new laptop is having a pandemic snitty-fit whereas my desktop recovered from the same pandemic snit. Come to think about it—I’ll join the circus with you despite what Ron says about it. . . . .

  2. I joined (an imaginary) circus once, but all I got to do, all day long, was shovel elephant shit and sweep up peanut shells under the bleachers. But I discovered something. It was the same thing that was reinforced, years later, when I put myself through college as a forklift driver. I’d been studying Eastern Philosophy and one day, picking up my millionth forklift load, deep in meditation, it came to me in the form of a Buddhist Koan (riddle); Q: Why can’t the forklift driver be at the beach while loading a truck? A: He can.

    So: forklifting, shoveling elephant shit, or just trying to edit a paragraph…never let it convince you you’re burdened. Always be at the beach.
    Peace. Out, sister.

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