Echo Beach

        There is a movie I was surprised I liked. Joe verses the Volcano didn't do well at the box office. I mean who wants to see a terminally ill guy sell his life by throwing himself into a volcano? It was touted as a comedy, but the advertised plot didn't strike me as funny.
        Later, because of a course I was taking through the mail, I ended up watching the video. Joe, played by Tom Hanks, is diagnosed with "brain fog". That had me hooked right there. I've experienced "brain fog". Look at how long it's been since my last essay. I experience "brain fog" every year. I get to a point in some project or other and I stop. I feel as if I am thinking through molasses.
        So Joe sells his life to a Polynesian tribe and gets to live in the lap of luxury for a certain amount of time. Then he has to throw himself in the volcano to appease the gods. They are threatening to sink the island, you see. Throughout the movie Joe is discovering himself and his life, rediscovering his self worth. It all works out in the end, with the help of Joe's luggage. You have to see the movie.

        It's the "brain fog" that bugs me now. I am deep in the throws of creative doldrums. I can't seem to think for the fuzzy cotton in my head. My metaphors are mucking up my brain cells. I have "Brain Fog".
        But then I remember… "Brain fog" is a fictitious malady. Even in the movie the disease "brain fog" doesn't exist. It was made up by a shady doctor in order to get a sacrifice for the volcano.
        "Brain Fog" is not a malady I can claim. [Obviously I knew that all along, but then that would ruin the point of the essay.] The only real culprit I can point to for the "brain fog" condition is myself. This is the condition where writers and artists must push on and preserver. The inspiration will return. Until then the pencil must keep moving. The keypad must be worked. The research must continue. Or else the skills may become rusty.

        Time to turn on the foghorns.