GhostsInTheMachine

Brain Fog: Because MS Couldn't Just Steal Your Mobility – It Had to Nick Your IQ Points Too Welcome to the delightful world of multiple sclerosis, where the fun truly never ends. Just when you thought MS was done robbing you of your mobility, it decides to take a little detour into your brain.

Yes, folks, say hello to brain fog – that unwelcome guest who crashes your cognitive party, eats all the snacks, and leaves you wondering where you left your keys… or your sanity.

What is Brain Fog? Ah, brain fog. That lovely haze making you feel like you’re wading through treacle while trying to solve a Rubik's Cube. It’s like your brain decided to take a vacation without telling you.

✅ Forgetfulness? Check. ✅ Trouble concentrating? Double check. ✅ Feeling like an extra in your own life? Triple bloody check.

It’s as if MS has a side gig as a cognitive thief – and it’s doing a bang-up job.

The Joys of Cognitive Dysfunction Let’s not sugarcoat it. Brain fog is a real treat.

You might find yourself:

Staring blankly at a wall, contemplating the meaning of life

Forgetting what day it is (spoiler: it doesn’t matter anyway)

Walking into a room only to forget why you’re there – repeatedly

And no, it’s not because you’re deep in philosophical thought. It’s because your brain is on a permanent coffee break.

Coping with the Chaos So, how do you deal with this delightful cognitive haze?

💀 Option 1: Caffeine – to keep your soul twitching 💀 Option 2: Naps – to escape your own thoughts temporarily 💀 Option 3: A healthy dose of sarcasm – because crying is overrated

Or, embrace the chaos entirely. Start a support group for fellow fog dwellers. Just remember: the first rule of Brain Fog Club is… you probably won’t remember it anyway.

Conclusion In the grand scheme of MS torture, brain fog is just another charming quirk. So raise a glass (or a mug of coffee) to the cognitive chaos and remember:

You’re not alone in this foggy mess – even if you forget that every five minutes.

      “The views in this post are based on my personal 
       experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

              “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                         By storm and silence, I survive.”

                         🧌✨ @goblinbloggeruk ✨🧌

Back in the unholy decade known as the 90s—when mobile phones were bricks, the Spice Girls ruled the Earth, and computers made sounds like dying demons—I found myself on a local radio show. Nothing fancy. Just me, a microphone, and a dangerously open mind talking about the occult, Wicca, conspiracy theories, and tech so unstable it practically invited demonic possession.

The kind of stuff that made the station manager sweat and the church ladies clutch their pearls.

Then, weirdly—but not unexpectedly—I got a call from the station. Someone had been listening. Not just passively absorbing the chaos, but really listening. A bloke named Mick. From Coventry, of all places (which feels entirely correct—Coventry has always had a whiff of the uncanny). He was on holiday nearby, heard me rambling through the radio fog, and felt compelled to make contact.

Naturally.

We met—him, his girlfriend, and me: three misfits in a café that probably served lukewarm tea and existential dread. Mick was the real deal. A tech sorcerer. Way ahead of his time. While I was still sacrificing floppy disks under the full moon, he was probably running Linux builds on possessed hardware.

He worked for Evesham Computers (RIP) and was nicknamed: “The Wraith.” Because of course he was. You don’t get a name like that by accident. You earn it by writing code that shouldn't work, by summoning forgotten machines back from the dead, and by casually explaining occult correspondences like they’re patch notes.

Mick gave me something rare: a weird, eerie kind of kinship. The kind you don’t forget. He believed in the mystical and the mechanical. He showed me that being a bit strange didn’t mean being lost. Just... operating on a different frequency.

So now, years later, I’m sending a digital flare into the void: Mick “The Wraith” Smart, if you’re out there—still whispering to dead servers, still sipping tea over sigils, still fixing BIOS issues with your mind—drop me a line.

📧 sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

And to the rest of you digital voyeurs: if you know a Mick Smart from Coventry who once haunted Evesham Computers and may or may not be a tech-witch, tell him he’s remembered. He’s missed. And someone still wants to talk about ghosts in the machine and why printer errors are probably a form of psychic attack.

With love, chaos, and a faint scent of burning sage, Warlock

looking to buy a second hand q100 wheelcair or similar in the devon cornwall area as mine has gone completely to the breakers yard in the sky ... many thanks sick@mylivinghell.co.uk

       “The views in this post are based on my personal  
          experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”  

                “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                           By storm and silence, I survive.”