Do you ever feel that life is like some kind of fairground ride? The roller-coaster feelings that just dealing with life involves can leave you with those same stomach-churning after effects. You get on, pay your entrance fee, (by being born) but you have no idea if it will be the thrill ride you anticipated, or ultimately, just an annoying damp squib.
Things flash in and out of your life, like the scarier parts of the Ghost Train. You sort-of know that they are fake, but you go along anyway, just for the ride. When you go to the sideshows of your life, the shooting galleries, or hook-a-ducks of everyday existence, you hope to win a prize, but know deep down that the odds are fixed against you. When you buy a ticket for an excitable ride, promising to thrill, it rarely delivers.
These exhibits of the carnival replicate those in life. Candy floss is sweet and fluffy, smells wonderful, yet disappears in an instant. Hot dogs and burgers entice you with the aroma of frying onions, but leave you feeling greasy, queasy, and unfulfilled. Like life, funfairs display facilities that offer much, and deliver little; unusual experiences that feel contrived and somewhat fake. It seems to me that the carnival is like a mirror of life, promising thrills and excitements that are unrealistic, and difficult to achieve.
Nothing has happened today. Not a thing has gone wrong, and no event has occurred to make me feel this way. I have simply thought of life as like a funfair, with its not-so-thrilling thrill rides, and its promise of exotica that does not materialise. It is not a criticism, far from that. It is something simpler, and more obvious. It is a realisation, just that.