Fall. It was such a perplexing season for the young Jenson. His mood changed for absolutely no discernible reason, and always for the worse. Even understanding this, himself, he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
Jenson is an artist at heart, but has always had to subdue his artistry for more practical means of living. His fears of being homeless stemmed, very deeply in fact, from his father's constant bombardment of statements like, "people like you die homeless, living under a bridge." Even though Jenson's normal response would be something along the lines of, "well, under a bridge may not be optimal, it is still a home," he was also very adequately aware that was not how he wanted his life to appear.
So, Jenson sacrifices his desire to make music, or paintings, or writing the next great novel for things like factory work - which is what he found himself doing now. Sitting at a machine, running through the motions of keeping the machine alive so instinctual that he doesn't even acknowledge doing it, he dreams of his favorite vices. The many women he's dipped his toes into shallow waters with. The many times he has tripped over daisies in an attempt to make something mundane into something meaningful. The many times he found himself disgusted at things that should not, nor would not under normal circumstances, find disgusting. His mind was wandering, but it kept coming back to the fact that Fall was coming up soon and he knew what that meant to him.
He began to fantasize - almost turning it into a fetish in his own mind - about what he truly wanted his life to look like, but it felt like such a far fetched possibility that he couldn't even imagine it. What would it look like for poor Jenson to write the next great novel, he wondered, which led through a series of thoughts that always ended at one of two stops - being poor and knowing that no one would read it, no matter how great it was, or thinking about the potential of becoming a famous writer and losing everything that he feels would allow him to write a great novel.
He then shifts to the fantasy to being a painter, but this is a much shorter fantasy. He has absolutely no talent as a painter, and things like pour painting isn't ever going to be a sustainable artistry skill since it is something just about anyone who has mobility and aim can accomplish. Even as he thought this, though, he realizes that he does quite enjoy pour paintings if the colors are good.
The alarm sounds because it is time for his break, but his immediate thought is that, while it will be quite nice to grab a snack and break up monotony, it won't feel like any type of break he actually cares to have. The kind of break he would like to have is the kind of break that allows him to indulge in his mind - utilize his brain as a means to improve the world around him. Of course, that's not a real break in the sense of effort. It is a break from seeing the world staying the same around him, hating it, but doing nothing to contribute to a better tomorrow.
The alarm sounds again, marking the end of the break, and he heads back to his station where his mind once again drifts off to the various fantasies of being an artist. He thought these things as he stamped out the another grouping of pills designed specifically to help cancer patients while going through chemotherapy.
Even with the irony being lost on him, it isn't the kind of help he would love to be known for. He would much rather make people feel less alone in the world; to help others feel a kind of emotional connection that so few people can even fathom. To be fair, he believed that society just didn't take enough care into that aspect of humanity to begin with and that it was the artists job to pursue.
His mind circles back around to how fall officially starts in a couple more weeks, yet the weather has already begun changing. He thinks to himself about how it is time, time to change his life. He picks up his cell phone, clicks the browser icon, and goes to an online retail site that specializes in music gear. He looks around as if he is doing something that could cost him his job - which, to be fair, it definitely could - as he scrolls through various guitars, drums, keyboards, and recording equipment. He adds a few things to his cart, but realizes quickly that it is far too much money for him to spend at once. He clears out his cart and does that same dance again.
After what feels like hours of doing this, he finally lands on a suitably priced guitar and amplifier package and types in his address. Last minute, he even goes so far as to add a guitar lessons for beginners book before hitting confirm and having it sent his way. The fantasy of being a musician has taken hold for him now, but even he is too realistic and knows that he will never quit this job. Maybe, though, just being able to play guitar will help make the job a little more tolerable.
-Dustin S. Stover
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