Befuddlation

I’ve been so befuddled lately. You’d never know, though. Well, if you were within 15 feet of me or earshot, you would know. But you, my blog, would never know.

It’s hard to blog when your thoughts range from the priority items on your to-do list to considering counting all the flakes in your Smart Start box, just so you’d know, once and for all, how many there were. So I haven’t blogged. But now, I turn my befuddlation into blog fodder. It’s a word.

Today, my laptop hit 4:58, which is the point I start closing up shop on a Friday afternoon. I like to keep all windows and documents open throughout the day, so I can close them all out before I leave in one triumphant round of clicks. It makes me feel productive. I was about to hit the “X” to close up a letter I had written earlier, when I noticed that under “Sincerely,” I had typed “Hank.”

I wasn’t writing this letter for a Hank, to a Hank or about a Hank. I don’t know anyone named Hank. Oftentimes I’ll type a word I don’t need for the thesaurus to find one I do need, but I didn’t need another word for Hank. When things like this happen, I know that I’m either going crazy or someone’s playing a joke on me.

Yes, I remember the message from when Copernicus called. So I’m leaning toward the former option: I’m going crazy.

It’s like when you start your car and the music comes blaring out of your speakers, and you discover that you were rocking out to the oldies a little louder than you realized when you pulled into the church parking lot. Or when you get into the car and all of the mirrors are positioned for someone who was sitting five inches taller than you, at an 80-degree angle, even though you were the last one to drive the car.

So anyway, don’t start calling me Hank. It doesn’t help the matter that as soon as I saw the word, I said, “Ha-nnk?” softly in my cubicle, and then started giggling. Yeah, if this were a bubble sheet, I’d be coloring in option A: Crazy with my No. 2 pencil.