I’m not one to lose my voice. Considering the shit I’ve lost over the years — from my keys to my sanity — my voice has never been one of them. I like to think this is because my voice is too scared to be misplaced. If it got lost, it would face my wrath (upon its return) — really not worth it, especially if I’m caught unhinged.
So you can imagine my surprise when yesterday, whilst speaking to Jackie, out of nowhere, my voice packed a bag and headed out the door!
It fucked off like it had right to leave! I checked the calendar. I didn’t authorise holiday.
Today, it had forgotten a few things, popped back in the office, fucked off — I’m left with this squeaky, raspy, I’M SHOUTING YET YOU STILL CAN’T FUCKING HEAR ME voice. Let’s just say, I’m unamused.
I like the sound of my own voice ’cause it’s my voice, GET IN MY THROAT!
And to top it off, I’ve got this poxy cough that’s sat like sick until I go and be sick and cough. JUST FUCKING COUGH!!! Get a good hack going, I don’t care. Just fuck off with the sickness. I get enough of that bullshit in my day-to-day. I don’t need some pathetic little tickle having giggles at my expense.
So here I am, voiceless and coughing but not really coughing because that would be boring.
And you know what those around me are doing?
Celebrating! The pricks.
Fucking throwing parties!
(The male stripper was a nice surprise, though.)
It’s bad enough that I sound like I’m miles away. Throw in loud music and I could climb into your ear canal, shout, and you’d hear nothing…
Oh, I get it!
Durr — it’s peace and quiet.
Fucking making me communicate by writing on the bare chests of hot men!
You’ll not believe the depravity I’ve faced today! And all I did was lose my voice.