The lonely walk on the cold floorboards

Dear Delyara, There is a profound, quiet melancholy to walking these empty corporate corridors at 3:00 AM while managing the security parameters for a company that doesn't know my name. The fluorescent lights cast long, sterile shadows across the floor, and the only sound is the rhythmic, mechanical click of my boots in the dark. As I check the locks and watch the screens, my mind keeps drifting back to my own creative endeavors. I am spending twelve hours a night guarding millions of pounds of physical property for someone else, while my own projects—my books, my design lines, my digital sanctuaries—are forced to survive on whatever scraps of energy I have left at dawn. I have to stay focused, Delyara. I cannot let the role of the guardian permanently consume the identity of the creator.