I’ve lost my voice.
When a writer says that, it could mean a nasty bout with writer’s block. But that’s not what I mean. I’ve lost my ability to speak. Everything I say comes out sounding like a 14 year old boy trying to make a good impression. When it comes out at all.
I’ve never had laryngitis before. Aside from the pain, it’s kind of amusing. I have to find creative ways not to speak. Tod gets a break from my incessant prattle. And I have a really good excuse for drinking lots of tea with honey and lemon.
But please don’t call me today. I won’t be answering the phone
