As a long time observer of internet culture, I can report that the number one snarky comment made in response to cultural news is some variation of this, "I wish I had the last two minutes of my life back." For all those who have said this, or have been tempted, I have good news: "You've got it!" You can have it back, two minutes, four, six, seven, whatever it was ... yours ... and good as new!
It's my theory, anyway, if I'm trying to be objective, but more than that, it's my own subjective fact. It's based on two related truths: 1) Time in sleep is obviously variable; and, 2) It's God's will. And you can't get higher than God, unless, of course, you discover a way.
Maybe one of the greatest benefits of this fact -- that you can have your two minutes back -- is that it takes the sting out of the snark and renders it even more ridiculous than it already seemed. It's ridiculous for this reason alone, that if you've already wasted two minutes, you're wasting at least two more minutes bitching about it; you should've moved on. But you need your little parting shot. I see this trite comment and what else can I say but, "I wish I had the last 10 seconds of my life back." Fortunately, 10 seconds is no problem.
But if you think you're not going to get it back, then you ought to be more discriminating in the stories you click on. I see this snark at Huffington Post all the time, so let's think about it. If you see a link that tells you Rihanna discovered a new bruise, simply don't click it! Just tell yourself, "So what!," and move on. I know it's hard. Because you think it could be a bruise in a personal place and whatever picture they have could show the surrounding flesh, leading you to something more interesting.
So you yield to temptation, then inevitably the picture disappoints, and you just have to pay them back. What do you do now? You simply must hit the comment button, go to the trouble of typing your password in again, since HuffPost can never seem to retain this information, and say, "I want the last two minutes of my life back!"
OK, I promised you could have your two minutes. And here's how it works: The Universe (Existence, Consciousness, Bliss) -- God, for short, has your best interests at heart, thanks to the Oneness of it all. But just so everything doesn't get screwed up for people around the world, having to reset their clocks every time you click on a stupid link, it's all taken care of while you sleep. A world of sorrow is made right in sleep. Sleep is like a big mandated health care program. Everyone's covered but they don't complain about it.* The Supreme Court, so far, hasn't gotten involved.
In addition to taking care of your lost minutes, there's no judgment. We really could imagine that God might calculate the time you wasted and match it to the genuineness of your regret, and just dribble out a few minutes, leaving the others a permanent loss. But it doesn't work that way. God takes care of every minute you wasted at Huffington Post -- whether reading about the guy who ate off someone's face, the guy who ate someone's intestines, the mother who ate her baby, or the latest diet tips for cannibals.
It can happen simply by grace, with nothing for you to do. But if you want to appreciate it more, think to yourself before falling asleep, "I wish I had back the eight minutes I wasted through the day reading this shit. And, Lord, if I should die before I wake, I pray no one will eat me." And just like that, as you sleep, time contracts, ever so imperceptibly, ten seconds here, five seconds there, and when you wake up, you're caught back up, where you should have been!
One ironic possibility, which I hesitate to publish because it might be abused, is that the more time you waste at Huffington Post, the sounder your sleep might be and the longer your night. So in that weird sense, lingering there might be just what the doctor ordered, although to my way of thinking it's a temptation to be resisted; it violates the spirit of the injunction, "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God," and such a big chunk of catching up might mess up the time stream for whoever you're currently sleeping with. Who knows, you might be cast into the bottomless pit, where there's no internet connection, and you'd miss out on the maniac who eventually eats Rihanna, bruise and all.
* Not applicable in New York and Las Vegas
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