The line between passion and obsession is thin. I think I’ve crossed it. I fell for Wordle.
Please send help.
Convention requires I introduce Wordle, although you’ve probably met – unless you’re on the lam, living off the grid.
Wordle is a free online word game created last year by a Brooklyn software engineer for his partner. It caught modestly viral mojo, and thousands started playing.
How sweet. How lovely.
How … no!
A New York Times article featured Wordle last week. It’s since gone from quirky phenom to cliché, dragging me along.
Wordle permits obsessives to play once a day. Each day features a new five-letter word, and players get six chances to guess the word. With each guess, Wordle says whether the letters entered are in the word and whether you’ve placed them correctly.
Wordle is delightfully non-commercial. Zero ads, for instance.
It’s also frightfully addictive. I’ve played for seven consecutive days.
My first word? “Siege.”
Yesterday’s word? “Gorge.”
Today’s word? Play Wordle yourself! I got it in six guesses.
Actually, don’t play. Save yourself.
And do send help.
