Short Circuit

Lastnight was one of those weird evenings; one of those where you carry something into the house from the garage that should have stayed in the garage; or when suddenly hooking up the hose to the sprinkler system becomes a calculus equation; or when you push the button to close the garage door when your husband is standing right outside and needs to get in. I have no idea what my problem was, but the situation did not improve.

Later that night, before I headed to bed, I went downstairs to talk to Husband. We were having a perfectly decent conversation, but I was apparently having trouble focusing. I was looking around and randomly blurted out,

“Hey look, there’s a lot of space behind the couch!” Which had absolutely nothing to do with what we were talking about.

Husband stopped talking and just sort of looked at me, and I said,

“I know, I have a little bit of the AA.”

He burst out laughing. I knew the instant the words came out of my mouth that I said the wrong thing, but I could not for the life of me come up with the acronym that represented my complete lack of focus. (And no, I was not drinking).

“What is it? What is it?” I could not get the letters to rise to the top of my gelatinous brain. Husband was not helping, but rather enjoying the dance I was doing around the family room to try and jostle my neurons. Then, suddenly,

“A-D-D! IT’S A-D-D!”

Seriously. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with myself.