Okay, so I decided to give this thing people were calling the “hell crossword” a shot the other day. Found it tucked away in an old magazine someone left at the coffee shop. Looked innocent enough, just black and white squares, you know?
Man, was I wrong. This thing was brutal. I sharpened my trusty pencil – yeah, I still use pencil for crosswords, feels right – and dived in. The first few clues… blank. Like, totally blank. Stuff like “A seven-letter word for that feeling when you stub your toe but also remember you left the oven on.” What even IS that? Okay, maybe not that specific, but you get the idea. They were tricky, obscure, designed to make you feel dumb.
My First Attempts
I spent maybe an hour just staring at it. Got maybe three answers? And I wasn’t even sure about those.
- One was “ERA”. Felt pretty solid.
- Another was “IT”. Seemed likely.
- The third one… well, I erased it like five times.
It felt less like a puzzle and more like punishment. My brain actually started to hurt. I got up, made some coffee, paced around a bit. Looked out the window. Considered just throwing the magazine away. Who needs this kind of stress, right?
The Breaking Point (Almost)
I sat back down. Tried a different section. Same deal. Clues referencing things I’d never heard of, wordplay that just twisted my mind into knots. It was genuinely frustrating. Like, proper blood pressure rising frustration. I actually snapped my pencil lead. Twice.
This reminded me of this one time years ago, trying to assemble some flat-pack furniture. The instructions were useless, parts seemed to be missing, I was sweating, cursing… ended up kicking the half-built monstrosity across the room. Yeah, the crossword was bringing back that energy. Not good.
So, I did something radical. I put the crossword down. Didn’t tear it up, just closed the magazine and put it on the shelf. Decided to go organize my garage instead. Seriously. Spent the next three hours sorting old paint cans and finding tools I forgot I owned. It was way more productive.
Coming Back to It?
Later that evening, feeling calmer after wrestling with actual physical objects instead of abstract word torture, I glanced at the magazine. Picked it up again. Looked at those empty squares.
Did I suddenly figure it all out? Nope. Not a chance. I filled in maybe one more clue, something simple I’d overlooked. But the rest? Still a wall of impenetrable nonsense.
Honestly, I just left it. Maybe I’ll pick it up again next week, maybe not. Sometimes you just gotta know when to walk away, you know? It’s just a crossword. Not worth the headache, definitely not worth channeling my inner furniture-assembly-rage monster. Life’s too short. There are garages to organize, after all.
