Brain fog is real. Thank you for my morning laugh. And I couldn’t help myself. One of the many benefits of attention deficit syndrome (if used intelligently)

It’s like waking up in someone else’s Tuesday and being expected to perform a tightrope act on a rope made of expired dental floss.

You arrive at work feeling like a half-baked IKEA instruction manual—confusing, out of order, and somehow missing three essential parts. Your clothes are on, technically, but assembled with the same care as a toddler stacking pancakes. Something itches, something’s twisted, and you’ve accepted it as your truth now.

You packed food, allegedly. But whatever’s in that container is staring back at you like it’s plotting your downfall. There's mustard where there shouldn't be mustard, and a slice of something that looks like it gave up on life halfway through becoming a sandwich.

Meanwhile, your day planner is probably gallivanting off on a beach somewhere, drinking a tiny cocktail with your last coherent thought. And your bladder—your traitorous, hyperactive bladder—is auditioning for the role of a leaky faucet in a horror film. It demands attention every 40 minutes and offers no apologies.

Communication is also... complicated. You hear people talking, but it’s like trying to tune into a radio station through mashed potatoes. By the time your brain decodes the message, the conversation’s three topics away and you’re just smiling like someone who forgot why they walked into the room—but now it’s their job interview.

And let’s not even tempt fate with laughter. You’re holding your internal systems together with metaphorical duct tape and sheer hope. If one more person tells a joke, the structural integrity of your dignity may be permanently compromised.

So yes—brain fog is real. It’s not dramatic. It’s not lazy. It’s trying to function like a well-oiled machine while someone keeps switching your parts with those from a wind-up toy and a haunted blender.

And you're still expected to answer emails. God help us all.