I grew up doing puzzles. Little me assumed this was normal until, one day, a kid came over who was fully confused by the most basic puzzle meant for a toddler I had sitting out. I don’t know why this simple puzzle was so challenging for him or why it seemed simple to me, but it occurred to me that maybe I was growing out of puzzles.

I don’t remember puzzles in the house after I was 8 or 9 years old. I’m sure they happened – maybe at school – but they weren’t feature for sure. I read books, I tried to write, I watched movies, I rode my bike, I played video games, I wandered around the woods when there were woods to wander. And then I felt too old for Disney merch and too young for the huge puzzles I saw old ladies tinkering with at a residential home nearby. I assumed puzzles bigger than 50 pieces were meant for the retiree crowd just looking to waste time between soap operas and too-early dinner.

After my mom got sick enough that I knew her condition was permanent in a way that meant I couldn’t work, I began looking for things I could do at home. Mostly I was looking for extremely cheap art projects. In that same time I wandered into the thrift store and noticed they kept a wall of puzzles and games, and one puzzle – a picture of a colorful makeup palette – caught my eye. I took it home. I wasn’t prepared for this endeavor at all and finished the puzzle on my carpeted floor. It went well. It seems I could still do a puzzle, and the bright colors were nice to look at as I put it together.

With my mom’s condition getting worse, I bought a few more puzzles that I thought might interest her and serve as a distraction. As far as I ever saw, she didn’t try to do them. Instead I sat on the living room floor and picked away at the puzzles off and on when I thought to do so, narrating difficulties and successes to keep her mind busy on something besides the new weird shit she was doing. I remember we had a puzzle on the table when I hired the final caregiver I personally hired, about a week before my mom’s brain decided walking was stupid. It was basically the last neutral thing before things went from bad to 24/7 terrible. After that I didn’t have it in me to sit in the living room any longer than I had to anymore, and all time not worried about her was spent doing the closest I could get to nothing in the absence of real sleep.

I tried puzzles again a few months after she, in short, moved out. It wasn’t going well. I didn’t have the patience, and my anxiety was bad so focus was minimal. Eventually I quit, boxed up the last puzzle I failed at, and donated it back to the thrift store like always.

Moving to a new place two years ago and feeling that sense of safety about my residence that I hadn’t had in a decade, I decided it was time to try a new puzzle. I got one I thought was pretty and tried working on it on my brand new floor. Despite my cosmic relief, the same month I was struggling emotionally with a guy telling me one thing but doing anything but, which concluded in me deciding I needed a break from his ilk. (Your chosen people shouldn’t make you feel lonely and anxious for weeks/months with no conclusion or attempt at giving a shit how you feel.) The all-around stress I felt from moving combined with that and landed at an inability to tolerate inconveniences like not understanding how I couldn’t figure out this tedious-ass puzzle. I had made some slow progress then stalled, got angry at it, decided I was barking up the wrong tree, and threw the puzzle back in the box. I decided I’d donate it back. Fuck stupid puzzles.

I ended up leaving behind or forgetting the donation box every time I went to the thrift store. Then one day I decided, you know what, I’m going to cut up that old dress I meant to donate and make it into a pillowcase. Hmm, there’s that puzzle again. Later I decided I was going to go through more old stuff, so one box became three or four. At that, I pulled the tedious but pretty puzzle out of the donation and put it back on a shelf.

Meanwhile, I bought other puzzles. I eventually did three. The first two I did in 2-3 sittings each, and it was a nice analog distraction from screens. They were both easier than I expected and fun to do. The third was a full price 1000 piece puzzle that ate up my floor for two weeks, but I made consistent progress and it was largely enjoyable. I liked the routine of spending a few minutes in the middle of the day picking at it.

I didn’t like when I sat too long and my back or legs started to hurt. I thought about buying a puzzle board or puzzle table. Which one made more sense? Maybe I would get a bigger desk or a kitchen table for versatility. Well, that requires taking a tape measure out into the world and somehow figuring out how to get whatever I find home, or buying something online. If I buy something online I probably don’t get to cheap out like in person and then I have to gamble with delivery issues. Do I want to risk having something deliver at a weird time or having to wait around all day? Maybe I wait. As in, maybe I wait to make a decision about this, if there’s one to be had.

The floor beckoned. I really liked the routine I’d created over this. There’s only so much video game or reading one can do. It was nice to do something physical with my hands and mind, no screen to be found beyond maybe a little TV that I wasn’t even looking at. Maybe I could do one more puzzle on the floor.

I’m saving a couple of puzzles for later in the year. Others I wasn’t sure about. And that left… the exceptionally tedious pretty one. Well. Hm. I’d had good luck so far. Let’s try again. I’d probably be better at it, all that stress from before gone and now having recent practice.

I put the puzzle box on the floor and started sorting out edge pieces. That’s about as far as I got.

I realize the issue now. The image isn’t intuitive. Colors don’t match from piece to piece. The image on the pieces is blurry, nondescript. The pieces themselves all feel dissimilar, like nothing belongs with anything else. This is a puzzle meant for someone who isn’t looking at the image whatsoever, who gets their kicks from one-color puzzles, where it’s all about sorting out shapes.

I got pissed off at it fast. I got up and walked away from it. I returned intending to box it up but instead put the edge pieces I hadn’t connected to anything yet into a plastic bag “for later”, uncertain what I’d actually do – continue or box it back up. I came back, emptied the bag, picked away with minimal success. Quickly I found myself staring at these still undone edge pieces that I feel like I spent an hour on already, and noped out. Fuck you. Back in the box. Getting donated for reals this time. Wish I’d done it already.

Maybe I spend some more time reading instead.