I like it when I wake up in the morning to fog covering everything. I feel like then the rest of the world experiences outwardly what I deal with every day in my head. Things come at you, but you can’t tell what they are or react until they’re right on top of you. You squint and scrutinize and try to figure out what you’re looking at, but by the time you know, they’re gone. Then they fly by and they’re swallowed up in the fog…then you’re alone again. Fog limits your consciousness or your awareness to what’s immediately ahead of you or immediately behind you. When driving or walking or looking out the window into the fog, that’s a little bit of a pleasure — to have the familiar, humdrum world presented in a novel and unfamiliar fashion. In living my life, not so much. I’m still trying to figure out what the gift is in the way I think. I have a few ideas, or rather the start of ideas, but (as always) nothing definite. When I find out, I’ll let you know. Usually the sun comes out and burns away the fog by lunchtime. I am rarely so lucky in the disordered, panting steeplechase of my own thoughts — their headlong charge is exhausting at times. It takes all my energy to sit still sometimes, and just think. I wish people knew that about me, but I’m not sure it would help anything if they did.