I ironed my uniform at midnight

Dear Delyara, I’m a security guard, and last night I ironed my work uniform at midnight because that was the only time the house was finally quiet. My wife and children were asleep. The television was off. The kitchen had stopped needing things. And there I was, standing under the yellow light in the dining room ironing a shirt I was too tired to care about. I remember thinking how strange adulthood is. You imagine work as the hours you are paid for. But sometimes work begins in the unpaid tired part of the night, when you are making yourself ready to go and stand somewhere for twelve hours with a calm face while your own life is asking things from you at home too. I finished ironing, hung the shirt on the door, and stood looking at it for a second. It looked neat. I did not feel neat.