Crosseyed

I might as well confess. I am addicted to crossword puzzles. I didn't mean for it to happen, I mean, I didn't even think it was possible. I used to make fun of people doing them, mainly because I was jealous and insecure of my verbal abilities. But somehow my hatred for crosswords has become a violent love - cursing at Will Shortz, erasing, rewriting, resisting the urge to use Wikipedia. I would say a solid third of my work week is me solving crosswords. I guess this is "time theft" but I would rather view it as mind exercise, which helps me in all other areas of my job. Right? Whatever, I don't care, I can't stop.

I blame Mondays and Tuesdays. The crossword is easy, you can make through without stopping, without looking things up. Then Wednesday and Thursday happen. Shit, after two hours I still have so many blank squares staring at me, laughing. I obsess over it, try to avoid "cheating" by asking people around me, since this, to me, is more honest than turning to the internet. But to the internet I always turn. Then Friday comes and I am impatient, I don't want to struggle on Fridays, I just want it to be Saturday. Saturday, a day of rest before the marathon that is Sunday. Then it arrives, the Sunday New York Times. I read the whole paper before attempting the crossword, hoping that doing so will make me smart enough to do the crossword. It doesn't. I can look through over half the clues without getting a single answer. I cry often on Sundays and have thrown the magazine across the apartment more than once. I wait for Loren to get home, hoping that he will know one that will unlock the rest for me. Instead, we struggle together and fail together. I wake up Monday happy to be returning to a simpler time. And so it goes.

I guess while on the topic of confession and crosswords, I should also admit that I grade my crossword solving abilities. Mondays and Tuesdays I usually get A+ (or even A++), Wednesday and Thursday range from B- to A (depending on how much I have to cheat), Fridays I usually get a C for not finishing, Sundays always F. I grade for things like time spent on crossword, difficult of clues I know, how much I have to look up, and how proud I am of myself afterwards. I blame the future teacher in me. At least the people in my office are understanding and seem to think fondly of my quirks.

Onward to Sunday and the day that I will win. Oh, and I will win the Sunday crossword, one day. Until then I will keep on fighting.