My voice is lost. Wherefore art thou, voice? Of course I've been all up in the internet trying to diagnose myself with vocal polyps or other horrors. Maybe it's because when I picked Jarrah up today (late!) I passed two of the preschool moms who tried to talk to me and when I gestured to my throat one of them shrieked "AGAIN?!?" I'm hoping she's just referring to the time over two years ago when I had to MC the preschool auction sounding like a naughty hotline operator. Because two years is not "AGAIN?!?"-worthy, is it?
You might think "Well, of course you lost your voice! You sang FOUR shows in under 48 hours!" But I'm not sure that's it. I think I might have a little something. Because I have a sore throat, too, and a slight cough. I could feel my voice getting scratchy during the two shows on Saturday, and by Sunday I woke up with nothin'. After being plied with Slippery Elm lozenges and Honey Ginger Singer Spray by my sweet cast mates, there was enough to power through one more show.
Then I was a new kind of freak at the cast party. Suddenly, I was the Sam No One Can Hear. There were a number of polite "What's thats?" and "Sorries?" and finally I just gave up and smiled and nodded a lot. Which is so not me. And everyone knows it. Still, it was a lovely, if melancholy, cast party, graciously hosted by the parents of Ursula Merkle at their home in Spring Valley, where we all snuggled up by a roaring fire and sipped the best Tortilla Soup I've ever had (two steaming bowls failed to cure what ails me, however.)
Today I slept most of the morning and had a massage plus half-hour in the redwood sauna with a cup of Wellness Tea (bless the heart of my adorable therapist) but still feel ready to keel over now. Plus, this lack of voice thing is a downright detraction from my sunny persona. For instance, I went to Von's for taco fixins and whenever I'd get a hearty hello from the Produce man or the kid bagging my groceries, I'd have to smile wanly back with nary a sound. I could tell this was a bit off-putting but I didn't know what else to do except carry little cards to hand out that say "HELLO! I AM FRIENDLY AND AM NOT IGNORING YOU! I HAVE LARYNGITIS! HAVE A GOOD DAY!" When the checker asked "Will you be needing help out to the car?," for the first time ever it sounded like someone thought I was far too impaired to make it on my own.
As I've mentioned before, my voice is my gift to the world. Without it, I'm nothing. I can't tell stories. I can't make jokes or wry, witty observations. I can't laugh at other people's jokes. I can't sing. In short, I can't be MYSELF. So I start to get depressed. And coming off the amazing high of this show, plunged into the brittle winter's morn of the soul that surely follows, is especially hard.
Think good thoughts for its speedy return, won't you? Thanks.