I love doing jigsaw puzzles. In the quiet of the basement with nothing to distract me, it, well, distracts me from life, myself and all that that entails.
This past weekend I needed to start a puzzle, which is the toughest part. There's no thrill of discovery or victory of finding the right piece, just drudgery. It's all about turning over, say, 1000 pieces and separating the border ones from the rest. Sighing, I began.
With an hundred or so pieces left to go, I came back to it in the evening, thinking I'd just finish the separation. But, of course, I then decided to divide the four sides, as it was pretty easy to see where'd they go. Missing the start of the evening football game seemed a fair trade.
Soon, almost all four sides were done. Usually, that's when the fun really begins. The bones in place, tomorrow I'd be ready to put meat on those bones. But alas, there was a problem, a big one. Border pieces were missing!! Had I missed one? Maybe. But six? No way! 1000 (994) pieces turned, and now I would be doing a puzzle I couldn't finish. One or two inside pieces missing is one thing; I can live with that, but numerous border pieces?!?
I should have just thrown the whole damn thing out. Loving the visual, book blocks, and vintage to boot, I convinced myself I'd already done the hard part.
I will be doing the puzzle; that's in my DNA. Work (puzzle) started is work (puzzle) to finish. But then, at the end, I'll be tossing. No one deserves to pay for or do a puzzle like this!
Missing Pieces
