Wordle

 We Wordle athletes have all been there. On the sixth guess, the last four letters in the right place. We look at our remaining letters. Q and no U so that's out. Zs and Xs are rarely used. The other letters made no sense, except two.

A sweat breaks out on our brow as we stare at the Wordle puzzle. Our hands shake as we take another sip of coffee. We close our eyes in prayer to Jigsah, the Greek God of Puzzles, for guidance. We ponder, calculating odds, trying to guess how many times each fitting letter was used. We consider whether we now truly understand the Wordle editor and how evil he is. This is a job for Batman, we think. Perhaps Wordle should give clues like Jeopardy.

I walk out of my room to the dining room for another cup of coffee, snapping at anyone who looks my way. I return in silence. No other residents speak to me, understanding that I am in my Wordle zone.

As I sit and stare at my screen, I envision one of the two letters leaping off my computer screen at me. Perhaps blinking "pick me, pick me". I stare for endless minutes. Sweat now trickles off the end of my nose and hits my keyboard. Onto one of the two letters. A sign! Does the drop of sweat mean that letter is the one? Or is not the one? How do I know. I don't speak qwerty. It must be a sign to pick that letter. What else could it be. That MUST BE THE LETTER. With a shaky index finger I hover over the letter. Be a man, I tell myself. Push it.

Wordle 715 X/6

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