The Sound of Silence...?

I knew I was sick, but I guess I forgot when the symptoms went away. That's the problem with these medicines: they treat the symptoms but not the cause, and they make you forget to take care of yourself. I've eaten nothing but pizza, apple pie and coffee for the last three days. (I had a sandwich and hot chocolate last night, but it was too late, I guess.) I've skipped breakfast, skipped lunch on occasion, walked all day without sitting down, cried a lot, shouted a bit, slept very little, and generally worn myself out over the last three or four days. I actually don't feel too bad; I'm just a little tired and have a mild headache. It's mostly my throat that's not functioning well. It was much worse yesterday and the day before.

Last night I found myself triple-booked; I cancelled all my plans and went out to eat with Harry. We went to Forbidden Planet and I read a bit of Squee while we waited for a table; it was lovely and warm, and I ordered hot chocolate and felt cozy.

I knew I shouldn't strain my voice, but we ended up in a debate about Republicans and politics and the atom bomb and I forgot to speak quietly. I hadn't seen him for two weeks, so we both had a lot to say; I can't stay quiet in normal circumstances, let alone with Harry. (Recall that I gave up my Pledge of Silence on GSA day last year when Andy Fish asked me last period if I had any concert tickets lined up for the next month. I had six.) I was sure my voice would heal itself when the medicine kicked in. I guess I was sicker than I thought I was; soon my throat was raw and my head started hurting, and we went home and I lay down and we talked a little more. I felt like a little girl again, but without the insecurities. I won't wreck the moment by blogging too much about it, but I fell asleep and it was very tender and beautiful.

Unfortunately, I woke up at six this morning and started hacking away. Once I calmed down and swallowed some Robutussin, I read a bit and lounged around until everyone woke up. "Good morning, V!" my mom said, a smile on her face. "Do you feel a little better now?" We'd 'bonded' over vintage dresses the day before and were feeling pretty warm towards each other now. "Yeah," I started to say. "Yghmkwv" was what came out; my throat reprimanded me while I determined to try again. "I feel fine," I said; all that came out was "I fghkl--" before I started coughing violently, bending over and grabbing the wall for support. "I'm fine," I whispered. I didn't look fine. "Don't talk any more," she said.

So I've been silent all morning, mostly because nobody can hear me when I whisper anyway. My parents say things that elicit responses from me, and it's very hard not to say what I'm thinking; it's kind of interesting, though. I'm not used to observing conversations without taking part in them. It's really very different. It's much more relaxing. You should try it some time. It's a very Zen experience.

For example: when Renata woke up, my mom teased her about her t-shirt, which depicted a potbellied anthropomorphic frog floating down a river on an inner tube. "V's always wearing these fiesty t-shirts that say 'Stand Up For Choice' and 'Not In Our Name'," she said, grinning and poking my sore tummy, "but Renata just wants to relax and float on the river." I was about to point out, irked, that Renata has a few fiery t-shirts too, when I realized that I'd given them to her. And it's true; I could stand to learn a bit from her about relaxing. What she can teach me about observation is just as important as what I try to teach her about conviction and fighting for rights and justice. If I'd been able to speak, I would have interrupted and I wouldn't have seen the truth in what she was saying. I guess I really do need to 'turn off my mind, relax and float downstream' sometimes.

Still, I kind of want my voice back.