I guess I'm a balloon shrimp now. Once you pop a segment and start to unravel the only thing you can do is get creative. Antennae? Legs? Wilted palm fronds? I'm open to suggestions.

The Clown says that it's important to continue to be creative, even in the face of existential inevitability. But is it really inevitable? The Clown calls it magical thinking to pretend otherwise, but would you take that kind of advice from a clown?

Whoops! There goes another one. Damn.

Balloon animals are pretty light so it's easy for us to get around no matter how many legs we have. And a balloon flower? They move around on just one leg just fine. How do they do that? It defies physics.

Though I'm not all I once was, I've still got my quality of life. And I think I'm transforming into a sea horse. That's what my roommate says I look like now. And I've been able to unwind a little, like the Clown has been suggesting. But if I relax too much I'm afraid I might unravel and lose another--

Whoops! There goes another one. Damn.

I'm Terry and I'm a balloon animal.

I got rid of everything sharp in my dorm room. Loud noises make me nervous. My roommate carries me above his head in the halls when he takes me to class, but I wish he'd use the reinforced suitcase I brought from home.

The clown says that when I get nervous I tie myself in knots, which puts my limbs at greater risk.

Whoops! There goes another one. Damn.