I make the tools of my dreams.

I make the tools of my dreams. I make the things that I gave up on a long time ago. I never really had a shot, I was only fooling myself. I had no talent. No connections. All I had was a wish, a burning desire. No-one really cares about what you want out of life though, and, in the end, neither will you. You’ll give it all up for health insurance and rent and a couple of kids, just like I did. People will tell you your worthless so often that you start to believe. And you’ll take validation from the only places that offer any. The $500 every two weeks paycheck that comes twice a month. The little smile on their faces when you bring back a coloring book from the grocery store.

I work here so I can stay close to who I once was. I test them. Make sure the input jacks work. Make sure the tubes are powering up nicely.  Sometimes I plug-in and play for a moment or two. I bust out of some of my best licks. Melodies that, when I wrote them, had me up all night buzzing with excitement. Now they pass through the room without even a nod of the head or tap of the foot. This is who I am. This is who I will always be. Just another settler.