Late last week I stayed up all night, lost in writing a lengthy, heavily fact-checked, completely forgettable (and quite possibly undreadable) post about a current event over which I was feeling melancholy, but which meant diddly-squat to anyone but me. The post wasn't funny or entertaining, it wasn't thought-provoking or heartwarming, it wasn't particularly educational ... and, because I failed to check my e-mail during that time, it ended up costing me more trouble than the considerable amount of pleasure writing it had afforded me. So it was a negative sum post, and it deserved to die.
I couldn't shoot it or strangle it, so I deleted the motherfucker. I don't want it sitting here reminding me how much backlash can be brought on by wasting eight hours lost in my thoughts and dreams and memories.
This post took me no time at all, but now it occurs to me that since I can no longer prove the other one was ever here in the first place to account for all those hours, who knows how the Universe will kick my ass for this 15 minutes?
Hence the title of the post.
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