1. The utter desperation and mounting panic mixed with equal parts middle-school awkward thigh rub of running to catch a departing train.
2. The momentary exhilaration—followed immediately by overwhelming horror—of elevator farts.
3. The precipitous decline of desire to go out dancing (specifically in favor of staying home and wearing thick socks) as soon as someone utters the phrase, “Yeah, let’s go tonight.”
4. The genuine admiration mixed with total loathing when finding a slightly better version of the joke you’ve just made posted on Twitter.
5. The slight anxiety about the amount of time spent in the warm comfort of the office bathroom, when it’s the only place in the whole forsaken building that hasn’t become an arctic tundra thanks to the air conditioning enthusiasts who a) outrank you and b) crank up the cooling to ridiculous levels when the outside temperature dares to inch past 68.
6. The thick, plodding weight as the seconds hand inches between the moment you share a good, honest chuckle with people you don’t know terribly well and the moment when someone changes the subject.
7. The complete, untarnished joy of playing with other people’s adorable dogs—without ever picking up doo doo.
8. The borderline narcissistic satisfaction of a dinner party with the exact right amount of food for each guest.
9. The wanton liberty of returning from Costco with the three-pound canister of Nesquik, which you can totally do because you are a functioning, responsible adult, damnit.
This is precisely the kind of labor in which I hope everyone gets to participate today. After you’ve spent an hour or so in the sun, had a cup or two of the coffee, hiked, biked, liked, or psyched yourself into doing a few chores around the house that you’ve really been meaning to do and since it’s a holiday and you’re on extra time, there’s really no excuse for leaving them undone so you might as well start off the coming week with a cleaner slate and state—after those things, get ye to the dollar store or Goodwill and bring home a brand-spankin’ new puzzle.
There’s something about knowing that the answer is included in the box of jumbled pieces that’s really reassuring. You just have to sit with it long enough for the answer to reveal itself. Not to lean too heavily on this metaphor, but trying to mash the pieces into spots where they actually don’t belong doesn’t work. As someone who has is not always the Zen center of patiently waiting, puzzles are the perfect reminder for me that sitting with a problem long enough, looking at all the shapes and colors of its components, and then try and re-trying different combinations of the materials you have to work with until the thing is done is your only option. There’s always at least one point at which you’ll (fine, make that “I will”) scream and throw your hands up and say something like, “We’re missing pieces!! There’s no flipping way that these are all we have to work with, something must be eluding us and it’s definitely someone else’s fault!! We’ve been wronged!” You can blame the dollar store for purveying cheap crap, Goodwill for selling previously used puzzles, or fate for cursing you to be the person who buys the one factory-defective puzzle on the shelf. Scream, jump around. Pour a stiff drink. Whatever.
About 10 minutes later, you’ll have puzzled and puzzed ’til your puzzler is sore (yes, I think of this line from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas every single time), and then you’ll realize that you do actually have all the right pieces, and it was only you own impatience and ineptitude that kept them from going into the right places.
So, whether you’re literally sitting down and piecing together what will become a magical purple wolf howling at the moon, or you’re working on a less-defined, bigger-picture mystery, I hope that the solving of the thing is fun. All the pieces really probably are in there, somewhere.
Do you guys ever have that thing where you think you should really update your blog because you’ve really been meaning to and it’s been too long and you really want to, etc, yadda yadda, and so on, but the things that are in your head are all the terribly horrible things that are happening and you feel that posting about anything other than the terribly horrible things is a waste of your voice and a disservice to the community, but then also at the same time you feel like all you really have to add to the conversation of such horror is rage and what good does that ever really do and also you’re slightly embarrassed for not shouting said rage from the rooftops from day one but you didn’t because things this horrible make your heart hurt so badly that your brain completely shuts down? Yeah, I have that thing, too.
I thought John Oliver did a good job covering Ferguson, as he’s done with most of the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad things since his show started. All I really have to add is this: