I can't sing

Those of you who have known me forever may think it is not news that I can't sing, but I'm not talking about singing on key, I'm talking about singing at all. I went to a funeral yesterday and tried to sing a couple of notes of Amazing Grace, and I simply could not do it. This inability shocks me; sounding funky is one thing, but losing a function is something else.

I have started talking a bit, and my voice sounds better to my ear, though the tests at the speech therapist's office today tell a somewhat different story. I have more vocal strength, but the distortions in my speech pattern are still pronounced, and in a couple of respects are worse than three weeks ago. Mostly I found today's visit encouraging, but it is clear keeping my vocalizations to a minimum needs to continue for awhile longer.

On the outside

I went to a meeting yesterday of Chairs, Directors, Advisors, Associate Deans. I sat in the front row so I could use the white board on my iPad to ask a question if I needed. A few cracks about being "one of those first row types" started the session. These remarks were jovial, nothing unkind intended at all, but they reinforced the oddity of my position.

As I listened to my colleagues chat and greet each other before the session began, I was reminded again of how much of this particular job is about just showing up and making conversation. But it was during the question and answer portion of the meeting that my silent position really became pointed.

My friend Julie, who is going through her own challenges with her vocal cords this summer, remarked that silence puts you on the outside, and as an outsider you have some clarity on what is going on inside. She said it more eloquently, but that is the gist of it.

Academics are a pretty irritating lot, really, when you are looking at them from that perspective. Folks asking questions that weren't questions at all, but challenges in the form of "I'm smarter than you" assertions, the tendency to be immediately negative or critical...things I know all too well from my normal behavior. And I felt my own urge to be a voice in the room, to make myself and my brilliance known. When you are silent in an academic world, you are dismissible.

Venturing out

I ventured out into the world today. I had to get some glasses repaired and order a spare pair. With the aid of a whiteboard application on the iPad, it worked out pretty well. People are generally quite satisfied with a broad smile and a thumbs up sign in lieu of verbal communication.

The day is like wide water, without sound

I have always loved Wallace Stevens' "Sunday Morning" in many moods. This line is apt for my current week of silence, though, in the poem, I think sound has a doubled meaning.

I am in my third day of this vocal rest, having blown the first day at 3 am when I woke up and told Callie she was a good dog. Oops. She has adjusted well to my silence, coming when I clap, and responding immediately to hand signals. Smart, smart dog. She and my cats have been my only companions these last three days. I had not expected how isolating this experience would be. I took Callie for a walk, and a man stopped his car to remark how pretty she was and ask her breed; of course, I couldn't answer him. It was both awkward and dispiriting to be unable to enjoy this simple interaction.

I am not depressed, oddly, but being alone and being quiet look an awful lot like depression, and I am conscious of keeping that at bay. I am learning a tarantella on the guitar, and such liveliness doesn't jibe well with melancholy. There is also a John Wayne marathon on TV all weekend, so I can happily indulge my guilty pleasure in Wayne films (I hadn't seen Wings of Eagles in years, and they are showing Horse Soldiers, which I have never seen in its entirety). Since I am loath to go to a restaurant and not be able to order my food without writing, I am cooking and eating well. A very cocoon-like existence; not depressing, but I do feel cut off from the rest of the world.