Fog Brain

In the morning I woke like a sloth in the fog.
~ Leslie Connor, Waiting for Normal

Yup, that’s me this morning. My brain is clouded, full of mist and fuzz...possibly some day old cat puke too.

Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form itself on the edge of consciousness.
~ Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep

Das, meine Freunde, bin ich heute morgen. I am the silent surf (apart from the odd poot that is) this morning.

Mist in the morning is Earth’s morning breath…
~ Nanette L. Avery

MY morning breath is FAR less poetic. Mine reeks of coffee, fusty remnants of the last meal I took with, possibly, a hint of Jamo. There’s a whiff of cat feet in there too. How? How the fuck would I know – Coco’s a magical mystery tour of mischief and trickery.

A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist.
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

This, THIS, is how I’m seeing the world this morning – blurred and a little scary as if through an encompassing, Stephen King-ish, wet fog. It’s NOT foggy here in Valhalla this AM. Nope, it’s just me – fog incarnate.

Hidden by diaphanous clouds of mist and fog floating gracefully over vales of heather and flowing runnels, she began to dance.
~ Lawren Leo, Love's Shadow: Nine Crooked Paths

Boy, is that a wickedly poetic, romance soaked, trying-WAY-too-hard sentence OR WHAT? Still it’s mega evocative AND aspirational. Right now, I’m not so much dancing in my own personal fog as sitting in it, crankily, woozily wondering where my glasses and coffee got to.

I need to snap out of this befuddled, more-java-NOW-and-add-a-dash-of-vanilla-this-time-please, state. I have much to do before I board that big silver bird tomorrow evening for my long weekend in Oregon with the awesome, chillax infusing Ten. There’s laundry to be laundered, laps of the pool to be swum and a HUGE, complicated design/layout job to wrap my head around.

Thanks (???) to the tech wonder of laptops, I can work anywhere – even 35,000 feet up in the air. Neat trick, eh? Design work consumes and laser focuses my bean.

In the days after The Amazing Bob, just like music, died, my main employer, Paula, sent me work. At first I thought – whoa, that’s cold – but then I began scribbling, drawing, designing and such. I found that, as I toiled, I was at peace-ish. I was distracted from the horror show of my beloved's death. Work was a refuge and an unexpected shot of InDesign soaked Valium.

So, work is good and necessary (both financially and to get me outta my own ass) but can I take a break? Can I chill myself out, go all zen without it? I’d like to find out.

Life is like a mist, it appears for a while then vanishes.
~ Lailah Gifty Akita