49 pieces (7x7). Even a sentient mold could handle this.

Another 49 pieces fell into place. You can pat yourself on the back now.

You just clicked aimlessly and it matched. 7x7 is nothing to be proud of.

The fourth 49-piece puzzle. You've figured out corners go first, right?

Boredom is dead, just like your ambitions for tonight.

Proof that your hand-eye coordination still functions.

49 pieces. Your mom would be proud. Probably.

Puzzle eight. A great way to hide from real problems.

No brains required, just monotonous clicking.

The tenth 7x7 puzzle. Do you really have nothing better to do?

A 49-piece picture came together again. Too bad life doesn't work out this easily.

Yet another victory holding absolutely zero weight in the universe.

49 pieces don't bring bad luck, they just bring a slight yawn.

Nobody is forcing you to do this, but you can't stop anymore.

Just a bit more, and this warm-up for single-celled organisms will be over.

16 puzzles, 49 pieces each. Time to move on to real suffering.

225 pieces (15x15). Time to squint and pretend you're having fun.

Time is money, but you prefer to blow it on 225 cardboard scraps.

You think these two pieces fit. Spoiler: they don't.

Fourth 15x15 puzzle. There should be logic here, but you're just matching by color.

Your eyes are starting to cross. Keep up the good work.

You're assembling these 225 fragments, while the meaning of it all still escapes you.

Why did you even start doing this?

Puzzle eight. Your spine quietly hates your hobby.

A pile for the sky, a pile for the grass. Living life to the fullest.

225 pieces have officially become your comfort zone.

Identical shapes, similar colors, and rapidly fading hope.

The joy is fading, but you stubbornly click on.

Chances are, half of this 15x15 picture is just solid grey sky.

You're actually starting to enjoy digging through this pile.

But "almost" doesn't count. Finish the second-to-last normal puzzle.

16 puzzles of 225 pieces. You've successfully avoided all your important tasks.

900 pieces (30x30). Welcome to your personal hell. Cancel your weekend plans.

Your willpower breaks against 900 fragments of digital cardboard.

Here lies your life plans.

Spoiler alert: you've looked at that piece four times already.

900 pieces of chaos, serving as the perfect metaphor for your existence.

Distinguishing 50 shades of blue sky is your new, absolutely useless skill.

Orthopedists give your choice of difficulty a standing ovation.

The eighth 900-piece puzzle. Do you even sleep, or just subsist on holy spirit?

People outside are living their lives, while you search for a piece with a barely visible grey speck.

Dante forgot to include this level in his comedy.

You finally finished the border. That's your only achievement for today.

Your physical vessel is slowly becoming one with your furniture (30x30).

900 pieces. Your eyes are watering, but the mouse is still in your hand.

Normal people would have given up and uninstalled the game by now. Not you.

You're almost done. Your nerves are in shreds, but you're almost done.

All 16 puzzles of 900 pieces are complete. Go outside and touch some grass. Real grass.