My thoughts are fragments; my focus is smithereens. It takes a mountain of effort to get anything done; attention is the most recent casualty. I've always had a difficult time with it, but some days are worse. I've got to wait for those hours of clarity, when the brain fog lifts and my laser-sharp blade like acumen, even if for a little while, makes an appearance. It's all I have.
And so it goes, the ebb and flow of the tide of brittle consciousness. As much as I try to wrangle my errant fibs, they resist, like a herd of wild goats on the rocky slopes of an unfamiliar planet. I am the shepherd of my own mind, yet it seems the very animals I tend to are in constant rebellion against my intentions.
When the fog is particularly dense, I like to take a walk and wander aimlessly through the streets of this town that has grown to feel more like a hostile stranger than a home. The faces that pass me by seem distant; their conversations are snippets of contrived lives that I cannot grasp. I am adrift on a sea of fractured fantasies and unfamiliar umbrage, desperately searching for a life raft to cling to and not getting it.
In these moments, when my mind is scattered like so many leaves in the wind, I find comfort in the most unexpected places. An infant's antics from a YouTube video, a tender embrace between insects on a tree branch, or the sanguine scent of freshly made tea wafting from a cup I make for myself—these small, seemingly insignificant moments become beacons of light in the haze of my foggy mind.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, especially after the tea. The world comes back into focus, and the fragments of my thoughts start to coalesce into something resembling engineering coherence. It is in these moments of clarity that I am able to truly appreciate the strength of the world around me. It is a symphony of mathematics, scents, tastes, sights, sounds, and emotions, and I, the once-reluctant conductor, find myself participating in the orchestra with fresh vigor.
But I know, as surely as the sun will set and rise again, that the fog will return. It is a constant companion, a reminder of the fleeting nature of clarity, the kind that haunts me, and the impermanence of everything good. And yet, I have come to accept this dance, this delicate balance between order and chaos, as a vital part of my experience. For it is in these moments of struggle and confusion that I learn to truly appreciate the brief interludes of calm and lucidity, and perhaps that is what existence is all about.
So I toddle on, a traveler in a land of shifting sands and uncertain horizons. As the fog rolls in and out, I navigate the terrain of my thoughts, searching for those precious and precarious moments of clarity amidst the chaos. And in the end, that's all any of us can hope for—a few moments of sunlight breaking through the clouds, reminding us of the beauty and wonder that are hidden just beyond the fog.
