i don’t speak during the day very much so i hadn’t really noticed it. more often though i find myself saying ‘just washed my lips and can’t do a thing with them’ or doing porky pig impression (abadeeabahdi ah that’s all folks) or just saying ‘heh my compliments to the farmer. i can’t even speak now’ asthe RSD has moved up into my upper back and started giving me full on grand mal seizures, it’s had another side effect that hadn’t even occurred to me. (speaking to myself) ‘alright, ya dumbshit. what’s in the new area it’s affecting? your……VOCAL CHORDS!!!’ i’ve always had a bit of a stutter, real minour league stuff though and i combat it by putting on a ‘non accent’ flattening it out to an upperclass northeastern accent (upstate new york is where i was when i heard what i wanted and spent 6 months learning it till i can literally do it in my sleep without even thinking about it.)
but now every time i speak my mouth gets tangled it’s pretty minour right NOWto the point that thinking on it, it’s been going on for about 2 weeks now and i didn’t think about it.
this is bad. this is really fucking scary bad. if i cannot speak up for myself…. i don’t even want to think about it. my psychwad family could swoop in here and i’ll spend the rest of unnaturally prolongued life medicated to zombie-dom in a windowless white washed cinderblock room with a poured cement floor with a drain in it with am ‘ensuite bathroom’ that consists of a toilet and sink freestanding in the corner and a door that locks from the outside. you think i’m kidding? mom’s loser slimebag whale of a ‘new’ (well 12 years ago if they’re even still together, but that’s another story for another time) husband converted his project room into an ‘apartment’ for me and announced ‘don’t worry, we won’t charge you TOO much rent. how much will you be getting a month? tell you what! we’ll drop your cat off at the shelter and we can move you in right away! isn’t tonight your trash night? we can just throw whatever won’t fit in my truck out then. no fuss no muss.’ i told him to go fuck himself and demanded to be taken home. to MY home. that’s serial killer shit right there.
most of what i’ve accomplished since i’ve gotten sick is because i’m perspicacious and verbose (means i’m a good speaker with a big vocabulary) and when that doesn’t work? i used to do musical theatre and sang in a couple punk bands so when verbiage fails, i can go for full-bore stevedore bellowing that’ll knock most people back a few steps.without my voice they can charge right over me.
oh? yeah that’s me. can’t recall if i posted this yet. that’s in front of my building when i was growing my hair out for locks of love.
and Chris made it home in less pieces than he left with (which was the reason he went…surgery and all that.) and we spoke for about 10 minutes then he went to bed. he said something about seeing me tomorrow, so i guess they want me to pop down later today.
my plans for the day. play the hidden object adventure, gather the trash from various bins around the flat and take that out, go visit Chris and Branden and then get some work done in the late afternoon and evening.