Over the holiday I stayed up til about 3am with my dad on Christmas Eve to finish a puzzle that was lying around about 25% done. We knocked the rest of it out in 4 or 5 hours. That might sound like a lot, but considering some of the piece shapes literally ranged from human hearts to moose heads, and the fact that it was the first puzzle I’d touched in over a decade, I’d say that’s pretty good.
A hungry-hungry-Humphrey stares at the ass of James Dean, devilishly holding the cord of a phone from Miss Monroe, being shameless checked out by Elvis.
The week following I started working on a puzzle my sister gave me in, like, 1999. It’s a glow-in-the-dark San Francisco skyline with an Earthrise in the back. Needless to say, it looks pretty badass when you cut the lights.
This would turn into something special; a personal project that would receive my attention every so often - an hour here, a couple hours there. I would come to be excited, not only to work on the puzzle itself, but for the shear physical result of a finished project. It would be something of a triumph. I have been beating myself up for months now about how so many projects have gone unfinished in the Castle SpaghettiOh. I will not stand for another! I will garner the sense of accomplishment and strength of completion no matter how small the feat!
Border - done. Highway, bridge, and surrounding elements - done. Shore, skyline, and Earth - done. Two corners of a starry night remain! Top-right - done! Top-left - ...hadn’t touched it since Monday?! "This is bullshit! I’m not gonna let another project go unfinished!" I start cooking dinner and sneaking over to place the remaining pieces. I start eating dinner and keep sneaking over. A piece here, a piece there. I’m literally jumping from excitement and uttering moans of sexual gratification under my breath with every puzzle piece placed!
I hate you, puzzle. You have forever crushed my dreams, and my self esteem. Fuck you, you fucking tease.