Loosing My Voice

Have you ever been home all day by yourself, not talking to anyone? Then someone calls, you answer the phone, and you speak but the words don't make any sense. It is sort of like loosing your voice. And when I do this, the person on the other end of the phone invariably asks, "Did I wake you up?"

I want to blurt out, "Fuck no, I don't normally sleep at 2 in the afternoon," but that response is not very lady-like. Plus, since I have not used my voice all day, it would come out like "Er um, n-nnnoooooo."

Writing this morning is sort of like loosing my voice. I have not written a word in a week, and I fear that I have lost my voice. Not my physical voice, but the voice I use when writing.

I have lost my voice before. When I was younger, I began writing. I would write as if I was talking to my best friend. She and I shared so much, but I would write everyone as if I was writing her. My writing was open and frank. It was a little too open, so after a while, I decided to write everyone in a different voice, a "letter to grandfather" voice. I respected my grandfather, and when writing in that voice, I was more reserved, more proper, and my spelling was better.

So throughout my late childhood and early adulthood, all correspondence – well, most correspondence – was done in my "letter to grandfather" voice. The sole exception, I suppose, was sexy letters to boyfriends. Most letters to boyfriends still used the "letter to grandfather" voice, but if they involved thinking about my boyfriend's loins, I switched voice. Better than paying for years of psychotherapy.

Actually, when my grandfather died, I stopped writing for a while. I lost my voice, I suppose. I wrote a few times, mostly to him, about his death. But I stopped writing my parents (I tried writing them once per week, so they knew I was alive). Telephone calls seemed extravagant at the time. We talked to each other for five or ten minutes on Sundays at 4:00 pm (an hour before the rate changes, from weekend to Sunday night).

Pardon me while I get my voice back, and no, I did not just wake up.