The Voice Within

I lost my voice a few days ago. It happened at work, where, adorably, I was immediately championed by all of my students who vowed to find it for me by snack time. They failed, but in the cutest way possible and so I am home for the next few days, under a vow of silence, lest I do irreparable damage. I am half tempted to keep talking, on the off chance that I wind up with a sexy, Janis Joplin rasp, but it would be my luck to end up more like Gilbert Gottfried.  

                                                            Best not to tempt fate.

Those of you who know me will think you understand how losing my voice has affected me. 

"Aw, poor dear. That must be so hard. I mean, you never stop talking. We love you but, honestly sweetie, you seriously never shut up. Are you going insane yet? Hnur-hnur-hnur."

Not quite.

Being voiceless has been wonderful for that secret little part of my tiny, blackened soul that hates people and every boring and mean thing they say and do. For once, instead of being forced to be gracious and polite in the face of near breath-taking stupidity or just plain mean-spiritedness, I get to smile benignly and say nothing at all. No socially accepted banalities cooed over the pink, wiggling thing they ejected from their body after 14 grueling hours of who cares; no gracious change of subject because I really do not want to talk about their problem with "the Natives"; no vapid exchanges about how truly cold this coming winter is going to be. 

Honestly, this forced silence is keeping me out of all sorts of trouble.

A secondary bonus, which has afforded me endless entertainment, is how strangers respond to my lack of voice. You see, I don't FEEL ill, unless I attempt to speak and then it feels like a fist is slowly squeezing my throat closed. So, because I don't feel horrible, I can still run some simple errands, take trips to the drug store for precious Neocitron, Halls, etc. and while there I have discovered that when I hoarsely whisper that I have no voice, people automatically whisper back and eventually everyone in line is whispering also, our heads bent toward each other, ears cocked, as though we are sharing state secrets or discussing vajazzling in church. It's magical. 

The only draw back is when I am walking the dogs. Meeker simply assumes that if he does not hear his named being called with a raising note of frustration and desperation, that he is good to go and will therefore accelerate over the horizon at Mach 3 at the very moment the van door opens. Jesse feels free to eat as much dead bear as she can in one sitting and Zoe, well, Zoe does whatever her three little brain cells tell her to do anyway, so there's been no real impact there I suppose.