Like everyone, I need an external source to find my happiness for the day. Since Noodles the Bones dog died, my randomly determined source of happiness has taken my energy to his grave. Since December 2, 2022, some have turned to horoscopes, and some just accept bleakness, but I like thousands of others torture ourselves with little riddles.
Everyone’s trials and tribulations of the morning vary from person to person. I start with my newest addition of Strands (which replaced the crossword). To determine my success for the day, I must find the first word without a hint in 2 minutes. After the first word, it’s typically smooth sailing. My second enemy is Wordle. After 2.5 consecutive years of playing this little puzzle, I’ve gotten pretty good. I try my best to avoid ✨the panic zone ✨ by getting the word in 4 tries or less. After 4 tries I am on my knees begging and pleading to god that I can get the word. Every once in a while, I fail, and god help the soul of anyone who has to interact with me that day. Finally, I encounter my final boss… Connections. This can truly make or break me. There have been days where I can get it perfect, but the next I fail without one correct connection. This game alone can destroy me. Every day I go in thinking I’ve got the key, I’ve got the answer, but Miss Liu bamboozles me yet again.
After playing my New York Times games ritualistically I can confidently say that losing NYT is worse than my Chicago Tribune horoscope telling me to power up Zoom. If The Chicago Tribune is telling me to do something, they don’t know me how dare they tell me I’m lazy and should log into my online class? That is an insult to them, not me. I don’t have a subscription, they don’t even know my name. On the other hand, if everyone around me has done well on their NYT games, that is a reflection on me and I am the stupid poo poo head. No one wants to be the stupid poo poo head.
Written by Sydney Katznelson