It’s 2:47 AM and the glow of my monitor is the only light in the apartment. My eyes are dry from staring at code and waveforms for hours. An empty mug sits next to my keyboard, a ghost of whatever caffeine I thought would push me through the night. I should be asleep — but instead, I’m here, picking at this project because I can’t seem to let it rest.
CTRL+Strum has become more than a project — it’s practically a piece of me. A weird mix of music, tech, and culture that I just can’t put down. I’ve been running on half-energy and full obsession for weeks now. There’s a fine line between dedication and self-destruction, and I’m toeing it every night. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of what might be brilliance — a spark that feels worth all the trouble. Other times, I wonder if I’m just exhausting myself for nothing.
I haven’t spoken out loud in hours. There’s no partner in the next room waiting for me to come to bed. No one else awake to tell me to call it a night. It’s just me and the code, and the sound of a looping bassline I’ve been tweaking. I’m not complaining. Honestly, the isolation feels like both a burden and a comfort. It’s easier to lose track of time when no one’s expecting you somewhere else.
This late-night solitude is when I feel most conflicted. I love what I’m creating — I really do — but it’s chewing up pieces of me. My shoulders ache, my head is heavy, and some part of me quietly asks if this is really sustainable. I’ve poured months into CTRL+Strum and I’m proud of how it’s growing, but I’d be lying if I said I never think about walking away. I don’t have investors or teammates or a fan club. It’s just me. When I hit a bug at 3 AM or a melody isn’t clicking, there’s no one to reassure me. No one to hand it off to.
Still, I care. Maybe that’s the problem — and the beauty of it. This project matters to me in a way that keeps me up through the burnout. I know I can’t run on fumes forever. But I also know I’ll be back at it tomorrow night, whether it’s good for me or not. Tired as I am, something in me just isn’t ready to let this go.
I close my eyes for a moment and listen to the quiet room. The faint thrum of the track I’ve been working on still loops in the background. I’m not sure if I’m closer to a breakthrough or just another breakdown. Right now, it feels like both.
Maybe that’s enough for tonight.
— Ben
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