Anthony DePalma | July 7, 2016
We treasure it. We obsess over it. We seek it out with all our might. Yet because none of us can ever gain even the tiniest fraction of a second more than we are allotted, we try to manipulate time, to distort it and disguise it, foolishly imagining that it responds to our commands.
And, oh, how we try. We foreshorten time so the Christmas season now starts just after Labor Day. We stretch it out, and that AARP membership card now automatically comes in the mail when we hit 50. We become impatient with it, rallying for a turnaround after a two-game losing streak or pleading for the end of a cold snap after just a single day of frigid temperatures. To our fractured senses, time drags at certain moments and at other moments, it flies.