Dorothy Parker was right

Ok, so my voice is mostly back. As long as I don’t overtax it like I did tonight, going out with a friend and eating fries and gabbing about which celebrities we’d like to spend a few intimate minutes on the couch with. And not in the psychotherapy sense.

At the end of that conversation I could feel my tonal register rising a tad, but it’s OK now, I’m safely back home with a pot of tea and no need to speak until tomorrow morning. Ooof — I just remembered — at which time I will be delivering a speech to a gang of professional type important mucks. At eight am.

Meh, I’ll be fine. I’m well and truly out of the Mickey Mouse danger zone, and back down into the you want fries with that? kid from the Simpsons, where my voice only occasionally breaks for comedic effect.

It’s a good thing, too, because of course now there is something else wrong with me. I had a problem with my contact lens today, it was all hurty, so I switched to glasses and got an emergency appointment with my eye guy, and of course it turned out to be $120 worth of “this will get better on its own in three days.” Thanks eye guy!

So it’s still a little hurty, but I now have some fancy pants new contact lenses to put on in three days that are my first new prescription in three years, so the world will suddenly look all gorgeous and juicy, like the produce aisle right after the water jets spray down all the leafy greens. I love New Prescription Day! Everything looks so suddenly crisp and sharp and delicious.

Of course I have no idea how all this FOG is going to manage to look crisp and sharp, it is by its nature kind of soft and mushy around the edges, but that’s OK, I love the fog. I’m not complaining. I can’t afford any new spring clothes yet, so this rain and cold is super fine okey dokey hunky dory avec moi.

Except I kind of hate the way it fogs up my glasses.

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