There I stood. In the middle of my kitchen.

I had just been in the bedroom and remembered purposefully walking into the kitchen. Determined strides taking me the few short steps from the bedroom down the hallway into the kitchen.

ZwebbyVille only has an area of about 750 square feet. Not exactly what I’m used to, but working well enough for the time being. So the hallway is approximately 15 feet long. I have a stride of roughly 3 feet. That means that 5 steps down the hallway, a couple to round the corner, and one more will put me smack dab in the center of the tiny little kitchen.

How on God’s green Earth can a relatively intelligent man go from having purpose to being completely clueless in that short amount of time??

The worst part is I stood there for a good two minutes before I even realized I had no clue why I was standing there. Had my brain short circuited? Was there some chemical that overslept this morning and hadn’t yet begun to produce in sufficient enough quantities to engage the mental processes that differentiate me from a fire hydrant? Would I stand there for eternity, turning into some sort of petrified piece of human wood with this stupid look on my face that said, “Today… I am a total Moron”?

After some unspecified amount of time, the rapidly deteriorating transmission that connects my brain to my bodily actions found enough hydraulic juice to mesh the gears enough to send a signal to my brain that I was lost. Totally and utterly lost. I was standing in the middle of a room in which I knew every single nook and cranny, but was standing there without the slightest idea of what my intentions were only a few short moments ago. No clue as to why I had made the trek from bedroom to kitchen…

At this point, I start to ask the typical questions. Was I hungry? No… that wasn’t it. Was I looking for something? No… I can’t think of anything. Had the refrigerator called my name in a pleading semblance of despair? Well… no. That hadn’t happened since the Ben & Jerry’s was gone…

What could it have been???

Now I question my initial motives. Did I perhaps take a right turn at Albuquerque? Were my intentions to be in the living room? Did I even mean to leave the bedroom in the first place? Am I really an alien being that landed here to find the Coneheads and bring them back to Knarfle the Garkok?

No… I am sure I meant to be in the kitchen…

It is now eighteen hours later. My brain has still not been able to dredge up the reason for that short little trip from the bedroom to the kitchen. At this point I am thinking that there was no reason. My legs had determined that they hadn’t had enough exercise on this beautiful February morning… or Fate had removed me from the bedroom because some toilet plug from a 747 might have landed on me… or, Heaven forbid, my brain is starting to show the first signs of the fact that the big 4-0 is approaching faster than a shooting star on a hot summer night…

So I grabbed a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cake and promised to never reveal this little brain power outage to another living soul…