I’m finding my way through another chronic illness fog. It is one of substance, a “pea souper,” thick with the unexpected.
I happen suddenly upon health hazards no matter how cautiously I proceed. Often, there is not even a murky outline of warning.
My own words surprise me, blurts here and there. Often, I create a new word entirely.
I don’t finish my own sentence–be it on a screen or in conversation–I lose its purpose. Quickly, I start two or three others that never find the finish line, either.
I’ve always had this problem—starting more than one sentence at a time— but in the fog of chronic illness, the results often startle even me. 😉
Thoughts drop in here and there—stripped and shredded–unable to attach for long, if at all. From the Zen Buddhist perspective, that’s a good thing.
Still, I snatch phrases and string lines together for a brief moment of form, misty at best. Why expend energy to write a blog post? Some days I don’t. When I do post, there is a glimpse of perspective, albeit shrouded in fog.
I find comfort in immersing myself in what I cannot know or even touch. It is a lesson in impermanence, trusting that neither fog nor sunshine stays.
Each has its run of days.