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Talk Is Cheap — and Makes You Pee!

Well, that was an interesting day.

I woke up this morning with no voice to speak of. And no voice to speak with, either, of course. Just in case you weren’t paying attention. The best I could manage was a guttural, squeaky growl. Think Louis Armstrong, if he were half-parrot. Or Tiny Tim, with a set of balls.

Given the sore throat I had, I was better off not trying to talk, anyway. So, for most of the morning, I didn’t. I got to work, said, ‘Hrrggnnnhhh‘ to my officemate, and kept quiet until lunchtime. I’m guessing my parents would have appreciated more mornings like that out of me growing up. But I digress.

Lunch today was a mini-reunion with a few folks the officemate and I used to work with. So, we walked to the restaurant — twenty minutes or so, with him doing the talking, and me doing the nodding, the thumbs-upping, and the ‘hrrggnnnnhh‘-ing.

(No, I wasn’t just saying ‘hello’ over and over; it was the only damned sound I could make. Cut me some slack, dammit. I’ve been sick.)

When we got to the restaurant, I made an encouraging discovery, though. As long as I kept drinking fluids, I could talk. Which was good, because it’s no fun trying to catch up with people by playing charades. Maybe that shit works at the Marceau family reunions, but not for me.

(And yeah, that’s Marcel, not Sophie. I’m pretty sure she’s not a mime, which is what I was going for. Be sure to keep up, there, folks.)

Anyway, the problem was, I had to constantly keep drinking to keep the voice working. Water, then soda, then another soda, then back to water. And as a bonus, my throat felt better, too — even when I ate my burger. Which seems weird to me, you know? When you’ve got something sore and swollen, cramming something into it usually doesn’t make it feel better. That goes against every prison movie I’ve ever watched.

So, that worked for lunch. To get through the afternoon took four bottles of water, two sodas, and a Gatorade. So, I could talk, which was nice and all. But I also had to pee every six minutes, which wasn’t terribly helpful for getting work done. And three more waters since I’ve been home — mainly so I could call the pizza guy and tell the dog to get the hell off the couch. Not exactly the most exciting use of the old vocal cords. Not like in all those prison movies. Meh.