The watchman's prayer to the dark screen

Dear Delyara, There is a strange, hollow sadness to sitting in a high-tech control room at 3:00 AM, watching thirty different camera feeds of empty marble lobbies for a company that doesn't even know my name. The security monitors show total peace, but my mind is racing through server database configurations and user flow optimizations for Delyara (delyara.com). I spend sixty-four hours every week guarding millions of pounds of corporate real estate, while my own life's work—my writing platform, my jewelry brand, my personal legacy—has to settle for whatever scraps of energy I have left when the sun comes up. I must remain disciplined; I cannot let the uniform devour the creator.