You ever sit at a garden fété and see that rubbery container of air, fashioned into some kind of tubular domicile and think “I want to be five again”?
“I want to be the age when those castles, those jumpy bumpy lumpy maísons, scare and delight me with every ginger step I partake as Trevor (the quiet kid from the back of class) throws himself against rebounding walls like an ineffectual Spider-man”?
“I wanna be ten, when I could jaunt around a steam fair thinking about trains and how ace they are, getting to travel in lines on straight tracks with no care for sidelines!” And fate commands you to check your sidelines and there it is.
Generator working overtime to pump vast gallons of nitrogen into a smooth cylindrical abode full of peers giggling and jostling and tumbling.
You can, you know. There is no age limit on bouncy castle usage, there is no age limit on being free, being you.
Time pulls the shades over our internal eyes and makes us feel the opposite. Time is the universal rival, experienced beyond aeons, and will outlast us all.
But…
Inevitability of our ends Is the induction to the embrace of Time’s only enemy.
Truth defeats Time, time and again and Time is actually ours, for our flailing fingers, to grasp and grapple and mould and fashion
But making Time ours into what we desire is tougher than any accounting report or customer service position or ticketing system.
And once we pierce with conviction the mental and temporal barriers of time we can sail so high into the sky with the cushion of a bouncy castle below.