I grew up loving foggy nights. I had friends that were afraid to go out when the clouds were low. To me, walking through fog felt like walking in a protected cocoon. You could see just far enough and hear far enough that you were never afraid of someone sneaking up on you.

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Accalia Murray Music - "Ode' to Fog"

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The mist that caressed your face left you feeling refreshed and clean. Maybe it was age, but the dampness never penetrated my body. Just the opposite. Tiny sparkles of warmth surrounded me, and if the moonshine made it through, the fog sparkled around me, making me dance.

A surreal light enveloped the world around you as the fog picked light rays off the trickle of water down in the creek bed. The environment was simultaneously silent and loud when surrounded by the densest fog. If a toad sang for you, its song would echo for minutes, enveloping you in a symphony you never wanted to end.

I would find excuses to walk along the creek, knowing I was alone with my thoughts. Arms outstretched, I would twirl to the joy in my soul. I miss those days, but I will never forget feeling so wild and free.

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Fog now becomes a curse. It fills my head, swirling about, confusing my brain, so the simplest tasks become a mission to Mars. Words muddle and brew but never come out. Notes need to be written and remembered. Questions are asked. No one is home to remember where the front door is.

Glimpses of you are seen through the days, and you rejoice when they come. Pen and paper at hand, you proceed to fill in the crucial gaps that need to be relaid to others. It flits away as fast as consciousness comes, and your pen is forgotten in your hand. You move on to other menial tasks to make up your day.

You are not a Zombie, per se, shuffling through your day. You are a blank slate that any idea runs off of.

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You never know when your brain will be filled with fog or for how long. A clear head is a gift meant to be used while you can. Chores, phone calls, texts, and more take up the time you have been gifted.

If you get caught up on the 'must do's,' the last thing you want is to go to bed. In the morning, the first few hours will be spent making your way out of the fog that sleep always brings me. You get tired just thinking about the work you have ahead to clear your mind once you wake up to start your day.

Yet, you must sleep to live, just as eating and water also play a part. The struggle to sleep when your brain finally functions on all four cylinders makes you want to cry.

Someday I would like the word fog to go back to the lovely meaning it used to have. To feel the joy when the gift of fog was something I would look forward to.

For now, I will take the tiny bits of time where I can say a sentence in one take. Not having to fumble for words that those listening get tired and tune you out while your internal struggle continues.

To those that suffer from brain fog, I salute you. We have learned to adapt our lives while thick, dense fog swirls in our brains. Never forget how strong you are!

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