grateful for my voice
This summer cold has taken away my voice. I went through the day saying almost nothing, whispering when needed. There were nods and shakes of my head, shrugs, minimal gestures. Mostly I listened: to other people, to the sounds of children playing next door, to the cats purring, to my own sticky breathing, to my beloved’s quiet singing in the car. I am always surprised by the sound of my voice on recordings. We sound much lower inside our own heads, which makes perfect acoustic sense but still startles me. I sound like a little girl; my laugh is bizarre and whooping. Not-so-secretly I have always wished for a lower, sexier voice, something that prowls around vowels and shudders spines, chuckles that emanate whisky and chocolate. Today I would just...
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