Sydney Avey

Dynamic Woman — Changing Times

Discombobulated: a word study

Aug 17, 2014 | Word study | 0 comments

confusionDiscombobulated is a word I use when I’m out of sorts and don’t know why. When I am in

a state of frustration,

a stew of perplexity,

a stymie of confusion,

I feel discombobulated.

This tongue tripper, a 19th century Americanism, was coined in the days before Words with Friends, when people amused themselves with the dictionary instead of an iPhone app. They coined cleverisms by altering simpler words, in this case, discompose or discomfort.

Some trivia: Discombobulate has six syllables that contain all five vowels. Although it is considered a humorous word, it’s not all that fun a feeling.

Break the word apart, DIS – COM – BOB – U – LATE, snap it into pieces as if it were a stale saltine and you get a sense for how it feels.

  • Disa negative force; slang for a put down. I tend to be self-critical when I’m feeling discombobulated.
  • Comwith, together, in association; I can associate my feelings with a number of convergent events.
  • Bobquick, short up-and-down movements; I bob around in my head from one disgruntlement to another.
  • U – Self, I’m talking to YOU! Something is going on. People or events may trigger the feeling, but they don’t cause it.
  • Latehappening after the usual, expected or desired time; The feeling builds. Relief is late in coming. I will continue to feel discombobulated until something snaps me out of it.

I pondered all this during a Sunday sermon about the withered fig tree. (Mark 11:12-25). Christ came upon a leafy fig tree with no fruit. It was out of season. He was hungry. He cursed the tree and it withered away. There are a number of theological explanations for Christ’s apparent testiness, but in my discombobulated state I saw a clear personal application.

A fig tree lush with leaves stands before me. Oh the possibilities! I am so hungry for the fruit I don’t consider whether this is fig season. I just keep sticking my hand into that tree, feeling around for the fruit. The more often I come up empty handed, the more discombobulated I feel. Where’s the fruit?

Whatever it is that you are searching for, are you so distracted by the leafy display that you’ve forgotten to consider the timing? What distractions are you dealing with that need to wither and die? What vistas might open up if you looked elsewhere to satisfy your longing?

Self, I’m talking to you.

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Crafting a Novel Around a Real Person: An Interview with Sydney Avey – WRITE NOW!

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