Today is one of those foggy days.

I hate foggy days.

My brain feels slower.

My reaction time feels slower.

I feel like I have to overcompensate for everything.

The machine is still running but it’s sluggish and takes longer to warm up.

I hate it.

I have these foggy days more than I have clear days though so it’s the new norm.

You adapt.

You live with it.

You get by.

I hate the foggy days though because it’s like wearing mittens on my brain. Everything is distant and fuzzy and I can’t think as quickly, which makes writing or being creative hard.

Heck, it makes writing miserable.

I still do it.

Push through.

Force it to varying degrees.

My thought is that if I can get it down then I can use that clay and mold it as I need to afterward. If the words aren’t there at all then I still have to go through the entire process. And as I wrote earlier, you adapt.

If it is my new norm then I have to adapt to that.

I can’t just sit in a drawer and not do anything.

This is life.

It is what it is.

It’s scary though because, despite previous findings of nothing wrong, there’s that lingering question of What If?

What If?

But what if nothing?


That’s the thing.

The mind goes to the Dark Place and you assume the worst when it could be the joys of age – poor sleep, poor health, poor eating, more mental well-being.

Poor me.

Yeah, poor me.

Only, no.

Because I still have clear days.

I still have days where I can write like a whip crack and on the days that are hazy I do my best and push through as much as I am able.

Today’s a foggy day.

Today I just wanna exist.

I don’t have it in me to try too hard.
Maybe tomorrow.

I get restless if I am not working on something or working something out.

And there’s the reality of the fact that a day will come when I can’t speak, can’t write, and can’t put myself into this world and I need to take advantage of the time I have.

Foggy as I may be most days, I am still me, for now, and I plan to take advantage of that as best I can.

That’s all any of us can do.


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