So, this morning when I woke up, I looked out the window and couldn’t see across the green to my neighbours’ house – in fact, I couldn’t even really see the end of our driveway. It was foggy – just the kind of morning to make you want to curl right back up again and go back to sleep! My husband had the worst of it, of course, as he had to pack himself up into the car and get to work, but I remember well all the mornings I had to trek my long commute into Dublin, no matter what the weather, and I don’t miss having to do that. The fog is starting to lift a little now – I can see the end of the garden, which is nice! – and hopefully my brain will start to de-mist soon too.
What is it about foggy weather that makes you feel like the world has somehow slid into a different plane of being? Nothing makes your surroundings look weirder than a heavy shroud of fog. It makes my mind lean at a sharp angle, like I’m looking at a film or watching myself from the outside, not knowing what’s going to happen or what’s outside the window. It’s no surprise that this time of year is the one traditionally associated with ghouls and the spirit-world, I suppose.
Fog’s traditional association with the idea of being ‘lost’ has not escaped me this morning, either. I’m fighting my desire to work on the WiP (I promised my husband I wouldn’t, so I won’t!) because I know that trying to revise it now, so soon after finishing Draft 1, will not help matters with regard to my knowledge that there is so much about it that needs to be fixed. I’ve been feeling ‘at sea’ in relation to my work all weekend, trying to keep my sense of failure and panic under control, and so I don’t wish to make myself feel even more lost and confused. I know that it’s a useful first step to get ‘the bones’ of the story written, but it didn’t go down on paper as smoothly or as attractively as I’d hoped for, and I feel the plot is becoming hopelessly tangled – but, with any luck, a few days’ break from it should give me the perspective I need to work through all the knots. It’s almost poetically appropriate that I’ve managed to be at this stage in the WiP at this time of year, when the weather is matching my mood so expertly. I hope the fog in my brain will lift and clear as easily, and inevitably, as the fog in my garden.
I dreamed last night, again – a dream I’ve had, in one way or another, for years. I’m in a bedroom, a very well-appointed and lovely room, perhaps in a hotel or a big country house. Certainly, the room is not in my home, or in any place with which I’m familiar. The only strange thing about it is there are far too many beds in it – maybe four or five, when one would have been fine. I turn around to undress and prepare for bed, and when I turn back, the room has grown much bigger and there are now hundreds of beds. Each bed now has an occupant, sleeping soundly. Usually the occupants are children or young people, sometimes girls, but more often than not I can’t make out the gender of the sleepers. I have to stumble, as quietly as possible, between these tightly-packed and illogically arranged beds, trying to find a place to rest. It’s a strange dream, and maybe I feel so muddle-headed and disoriented this morning because the dream-feeling is working in conjunction with the weather, both conspiring to muddle me.
The dream makes me feel clumsy, large and cumbersome, as well as afraid that I’ll never find an unoccupied bed in which to sleep, so it’s interesting that I should dream it again now. The dream usually doesn’t end with me finding a peaceful place to rest – whatever significance that might have – so I hope it’s my brain telling me to keep on going, despite all obstacles (as opposed to ‘you’re on a wild goose chase, give up now’)!
Here’s hoping I’m the only one labouring under fog-brain today. I hope your thought processes are clear, sharp and keen, and that you’re ready for another week’s challenges and opportunities.
SJ O'Hart 