My aspirations of updating this blog daily seemed to have gone down the drain along with everything else I had planned for this summer.
I guess more than anything I'm just frustrated with myself for never finishing anything I start.
I was working on a puzzle at the beginning of the summer and it was really testing my patience. It's a beautiful picture of The Dolomites, a section of the Alps in Italy. On the box it says 1000 pieces, ages 12+. What it doesn't say is "Hey this puzzle you're about to tackle will drive you up the freakin wall." While I was trying to put this sucker together, I had nothing else to do but reflect on life. Then I came to the conclusion that this puzzle is like my life. The box it comes in is so small and simple, the picture on the front beautiful and perfect. But as soon as you dump out the contents, it's a complete mess. I started with the outer edge but it feels impossible to fill in the middle. And I feel like there has to be missing pieces, I swear I've looked at every piece more than once. Then I got paranoid and thought what if the maker of this puzzle gave me pieces that don't even fit? Or even worse, they took some pieces out just to drive me crazy? I used to do that to my sister when we were younger. She would spend ages putting together this puzzle of whales and I would always hide one piece just to annoy her. It was so mean, I'm not sure why I did it.
It's stupid, but I felt like the more of this puzzle I completed, the more things would start making sense. Or maybe not necessarily make sense....the overall picture would just become clearer. And then tragedy struck and my mom told me my puzzle was taking over the dining room table and that the dog kept trying to eat the pieces, could I please put it away? I was pissed. I threw the pieces in the box and put it in my room, and immediately regreted doing that because I knew I wasn't going to touch it again. I had worked so hard on that silly puzzle, why start over?
The box of puzzle pieces is sitting in the corner of my room and it makes me wonder what happened to my motivation. What happened to me wanting to learn how to play the harmonica this summer? Or going to the library and reading for hours? Running a mile everyday? Updating this blog? Have I let too much summer slip by to finish what I started? I guess only I myself know the answers to my own puzzling questions.