I’m now at the age where time is a villain in a horror movie. Time is frightening to me—hours lost at bad dinner parties, seconds stolen in conversation with dullards. I’m a control freak, and time is the biggest and baddest of beasts, mysterious and confounding. In real life, it is terrifying to navigate the collapsing tunnel of aging; some days sprint by, some days I am bitten by nostalgia and overwhelmed by sadness.