Brain fog. “Being blonde”. Now I know what it feels like. Years ago I acquired the “just being blonde” tag by others in my team at work because I suddenly needed time to digest ideas, questions and discussions. I would never have referred to myself as “being blonde” in those days because I used to be quick-witted, but I was dark-haired back then, and still am. In other words: my elevator of knowledge does not travel all the way up to the top floor right now; it keeps sticking somewhere between the 3rd and the 4th floor. I hear people talking, but there’s no understanding flowing from hearing and seeing them move their lips and vocal chords into linguistic marvels of the 21st century.