For starters, I got sick. Surprise! It's November and we're all sick. My particular poison is pharyngitis. I could complain about how I cough a lot and how my head is full of fluid and how I can't swallow without it hurting a little, but I won't. Not because I'm above it, but because I have bigger fish to fry in my giant skillet of whining.
I woke up on Sunday and, as I tend to in the mornings, I opened my mouth to talk to myself. Therein lay(ed? laid? lied? snuggled?) the problem.
I had no voice. None. It was gone. Forever.
Well, actually it's only been gone for three days now, but these could very well be the first three days of forever. Hey, I don't know.
Anyway, it's been a problem. I never realized before how much I talk. Yeah, yeah, those of you who know me, take a moment to get all of your wisecracks out of your system. But seriously. You don't know what you've got/do until it's gone/you can't do it anymore.
For instance, if you decide that being sick is license to feel totally sorry for yourself and therefore medicate your sorrows and your sickness alike with Wendy's chicken nuggets...
...too bad.
Or if your father has a birthday...
...tough stuff. You will just have to look like you don't care enough about him to do more than send him a text with lots of exclamation points that nevertheless don't make anyone feel loved.
Shoot, you can't even enjoy re-runs of a TV show you weren't allowed to watch when it came out...
It may feel new and hilarious to you, but you can't convey that to anyone. Not to your gerbils, not to your roommates on the other side of your bedroom walls, not to anybody. In space, nobody can hear you laugh. (I failed miserably at that allusion, too.)
Yeah, ok, now that I've got that out of my system, I can acknowledge that being forced to take a vow of silence isn't the worst thing that could happen. In fact, it's really not that bad at all. But believe it or not, I did not actually start this entry to whine about how I can't talk. Well, I sort of did. But not just in general.
This is what happened yesterday morning:
I wish I were kidding. I really, really do.*
Also, if you haven't read my thoughts about the elevator, this won't make any sense.
To his credit, Elevator Guy was really nice about it. He tried gallantly to understand what I was saying as I croaked my way through words I don't even remember. And he said "I hope you feel better!" as the elevator door was opening to spit me out in all my shame. But no amount of niceness can change the fact that Elevator Guy and I have simply been doomed from the start.
So...that happened.
I struggle on in silence. Well, in semi-silence. I can't not talk. That's just impossible.
For today's bonus, I would direct your attention to my horoscope from yesterday's paper:
How DO they do it?
*I lied, I actually don't wish I was kidding. If these things didn't happen, I would have nothing to blog about.
