A Witless Wondering

For as long as I can remember, I have been absent minded. My husband called me the “absent minded professor” years before I became one. Until now, I hadn’t considered “overload" as a viable explanation. Perhaps it isn’t, but wouldn’t that be nice.

This week, I feel as though I’ve misplaced my wit, and I simply can't find it anywhere. On the best of days I struggle to write something uplifting, but I can almost always pull out some mild sarcasm out in an attempt to be humourous. The term “witless wonder” even comes to mind, right now. Not that I believe myself to be some kind of a wonder, but I sure as hell do spend a lot of time wondering.

In my experience, Merriam Webster comes in handy at these times of deep contemplation aligned with writer's block.

wit·less

adj \ˈwit-ləs\

1: destitute of wit or understanding : foolish

2: mentally deranged : crazy <drive one witless with anxiety — William Styron>

    wit·less·ly adverb

    wit·less·ness noun

I think Merriam is onto something. At the moment, I feel remarkably destitute of understanding as I experience intermittent episodes of witless anxiety. On the plus side, I’m trying hard not to feel foolish, and am nowhere near thinking myself mentally deranged. Crazy? Well, perhaps – but only in a good way.

If I really have lost my wit, the odds that I can find it are in my favour. I misplace things all the time, but I have uncanny luck in finding them. Take my car, for instance. I quite regularly lose it in parking lots. Once I lost it at Costco for so long (half an hour) that I actually cried with anxiety and frustration. I convinced myself that it had been stolen. It had not.

I own two watches, because I lose one or both on every given day. I should probably contemplate giving up the wearing of these ever disappearing wrist clocks. Perhaps I would adapt. Neither of our two daughters wear a watch, and they both seem to get by. They are of the cell phone generation, and see no need for ornamental timepieces. Unfortunately, when one has worn a watch on one's left wrist for forty of the past fifty years, one feels naked with it. At least this one does. It’s like when you are wearing your contact lenses, but keep pushing the glasses that you aren’t wearing up on your nose. Something is clearly missing. 

Yesterday was a banner day for watches and me. I couldn’t find either of the two for about ten minutes, then gratefully found the brown leather strapped one. My stress could have been avoided if I had realized that I was already wearing the silver watch. When I pulled off my sweater last night I found both of them, right there keeping time on my wrist. It scared me just a little, but made me laugh a little more.

Overall, I will continue to be hopeful about my odds of recovering the things that I have lost or continue to lose. Maybe this prescribed time off of work to take care of myself will reveal that being on overload adds to or explains my absent-mindedness. Maybe it won’t.

I may not currently have my wit or "my wits" about me." But surely to god they are around here somewhere.