A jig-saw puzzle waits in the two main halls of our old folks boarding house. You’ve got to make yourself walk past the table. Just look. Then, reluctantly, press on to the dining room.
Just described another form of addiction. Could have started at childhood. Or at holiday family gatherings. Back when you welcomed, say, inside diversion from the outside winter weather.
The family welcomed the 500, even a thousand inter-locking jig-saw puzzle pieces, cut from a colorful painting, waiting for assembly. Dad welcomed some holiday quietness. Went along with the gag. Put in the offered last piece when only one puzzle vacancy was left. Maybe, like the first ‘weed’, that’s when addiction beckoned.
Because long-time users invite you to the old folks jig-saw puzzle, tell family histories, welcome participation, you can get hooked. Now, I know to find the ‘edge’ pieces first. Avoid those 1,000 piece puzzles. Big pieces easier to finger. Accept that American flags, or puppy-dog heads, have been painted on both sides of puzzle.
Know that the machine operator who cuts those interlocking ‘jigs’ is not your friend. You should despise that ‘cut-upper’. Too late. You’re addicted.
