When people started talking about the COVID brain fog, I thought it sounded faintly ridiculous, like one of those diagnoses made in Victorian literature to cover anything from meningitis to menopause.
Alas, brain fog is all too real, and it doesn't come in on little cats' feet either. It slurps and slithers around in your head in great smeary splodges, like a cornucopia of slugs. Big ones and little ones, smudging your thoughts, snacking on syntax, gumming up your words until a blank stare feels like a perfectly reasonable response to just about anything.
I know because I have it, am trying to write my way through it, which should be an adventure for us all. But I am a columnist and I just had COVID and we all know that columnists who get COVID are legally and contractually required to write about it.
