i know. i'm blushing.

After I send an email, regardless of how many times I proof it before hitting send, I always have to go into my sent mail folder and reread the message one last time. I don’t know why, but I can’t help it. I know it’s too late to fix any errors, but I do it anyway. Every time. I think maybe I do this because I figure if my recipient is going to see an error, I want to see it too. Then, at least we BOTH know I’m an idiot.

That’s my running theory anyway.

I’ve been fighting a little bug the past week. It was nothing too serious. I still went to school and work. No biggie. But Friday night this bug culminated in the utter destruction of my voice. I felt it slipping away at work, and then I thrashed what was left of it by stopping in at a karaoke bar with some friends and shouting the lyrics of “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of my lungs until there was nothing left. Curse you Wayne’s World. What was I thinking?

Work on Saturday night proved interesting. Remember how I work with the geriatric population? Remember how they can’t hear anything unless it’s cranked up to at least twice the normal decibel level? Yeah. Well, then you can imagine. Saturday was interesting.

My poor voice is now left in shards on the floor. I’m afraid I’ve lost it forever. It cracks and creaks and rises and falls completely independent of my bidding. There’s no such thing as tone or inflection anymore. I’m relegated to a whisper.

I miss it. You never notice how much depends on your voice until you don’t have it anymore. It turns out I use my voice a lot, and not having one changes everything. The simplest conversations become complicated, and normal tasks—ones that you don’t even realize you use your voice for—become difficult.

People are totally meant to have voices. We come pre-packaged with these nifty little folds in our larynx that are made specially for sound-making. I’m telling you, it’s meant to be.

I want it back.

I woke up this morning and groggily reached out for the clock, wondering how much time I had before I had to get ready for class. “8:52″ the clock said. I was hit with a sudden panic. “I’m so late!” I thought. In a rush of adrenaline I nearly leapt out of bed.

Then slowly, laboriously, the rest of my brain caught up with myself. “Calm down!” my brain said. “Today is Saturday.”

Still feeling mildly confused, but beginning to accept the fact that the weekend had arrived, relief slowly filled me. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Such a strange way to start the day. But thank goodness for Saturdays.

Before I had a job, it used to feel like the only thing people ever talked about was their work. I dreaded meeting new people, going to parties, or anything else that would require small talk. I was so mortified at what I perceived was my enormous lack that I couldn’t handle the possibility of having to talk about it.

It’s funny because now that I have a job, I never even think about it. I mean, I guess people still talk about it, but it never feels like the only conversation topic anymore. And honestly, most people don’t really care what it is you do, or whether you get paid for it.

But I REALLY didn’t used to feel that way.

So strange how your insecurities mess with your perception. I wonder if there would have been a way to get over that insecurity without my circumstances changing. I wonder if I could have been comfortable enough with myself and my joblessness that my perception of things then could have been more similar to my perception now.

Also, I think I might define myself too much by my occupation/career goals. How do you not do that?

This is a judge-free zone, right?

Good.

So now I’ll tell you the best tasting thing ever.

Butter plus brown sugar, beaten until it’s creamy, right before you add anything else to the cookie dough. I mean really, why even bother with the other ingredients? (Except maybe for the chocolate.)

Delicious.