Melting clocks and lost hours

Where did it go?
We all say, “Unbelievable… where did time go?”
If we think, “Oh, it’s already June… where did the year go?” – time is flying.

As I ask myself where time went, all I can picture are Dalí’s melting clocks – perhaps the Spanish summer heat… or because time really does melt between our fingers while we’re busy checking our phones, until we realise it’s gone.

I promised myself I would lose the 10 pounds… and I haven’t. In fact, I’ve put on 6.

With a friend, we talked about how often we check our phones and scroll with no real purpose. How many times do we say, “I’ll just check this quickly,” and suddenly we’re gone – lost in posts, videos, distractions we never intended to see?

An hour later: “Crumbs… what was I even going to look for?” Gone.

And then the guilt arrives. Quiet at first, then louder: “Oh no… you’re losing it. Memory fading. Is it ADHD, PTSD, or some new acronym you’ve diagnosed yourself with?”

And yet – ironically – I often discover something I wasn’t even looking for. Usually cheaper. Serendipity disguised as distraction. And boom – I end up buying a 2-for-1 deal on things I didn’t need, proudly “saving 50%” on a purchase I never planned.

In today’s world, distraction is king – and we love it. But are we comfortable with how much time we quietly give away?

It’s a perfect storm: endless content, clever systems, and our curiosity. Every time we fall in, someone benefits. Have you ever timed how long you spend on your phone?

So: are we responsible, or are the tech giants? Do we get compensation, dividends, even a symbolic refund?

Probably not.

We give away our attention – and our data. Everything. Sometimes it feels like our conversations return as targeted ads.

“Voilà… here’s a 2-for-1 offer on those flowers you were just talking about.”
Coincidence? Maybe. Convenient? Definitely.

So, as ironic as it sounds, I’ll do something about it. I’ll track my phone usage and set limits. No phone after 10 p.m., no scrolling at the table – maybe even leaving it in another room. Strategic distance.

As part of my heroic break-up act, I’m even considering an app that gives me electric shocks if I pick up my phone more than twice an hour. Extreme? Perhaps. Tempting.

Or I go full dramatic: I leave it in the car, it runs out of battery. Or – final stage – it mysteriously falls into the toilet. A tragic accident.

Dear phone, I love you – but we’ll set boundaries.

And yet I still feel the urge to reply instantly, as if life depends on it.

Maybe the mistake is thinking we can break up in one dramatic gesture. But habits don’t work like that. They shift slowly.

So I’ll track my usage. Survival pending.

Time will pass anyway. Did I spend it well?

And just as I say that…
Ah. The phone again. Of course.