Day 85....
I have been thinking about this thing we call the fog, I don't know what even made me go to here, but circa 2000. My 2nd English class of undergrad we studied poetry. Shit I can not remember half of the things I do in a week but I remember this poem:
Fog
by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
I would like for you to stop, think, reflect, and post the meaning of this for you. I have included my interpretation below, but I want to you to draw your own conclusions for yourself (No Sheeple) here.- Spoiler[/url] We can not hear the mass of clouded judgement, rage, confusion, anger, depression, coming to impede the line of sight. This fog is unrelenting a silent omen that I fear because I do not know how long it will last or what it harbors in its mist. I need to be able to see in order to look forward and continue on the path of quit.
As it sits over me it effects not only me but those around me. It doesn't have to speak, it sits there and waits to snap up its pray. it is curled back waiting to pounce on those who do not respect its power and abilities. When the fog descends, we need to proceed with caution and slow otherwise, you will not see the hazard or trap that lay in-front of you. And just like it came, it rolls out, leaving no visible scars of its existence.
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Thanks to candoit for linking me to this poem.
The fog is my biggest struggle. I hate it with a passion because of how sneaky it is coming over you on its cat feet before you realize you are in it. Can't think straight and never know when it will move on. Each day that passes I seem to spend less time in the fog. Drinking water really does seem to help this problem. Thanks for the poem, prior to tonight I hardly noticed how silently it comes over you. It's a sneaky bastard but now I how how she plays.
Day 30 with many more foggy days ahead but more prepared than before.