The noise that silence brings

There is a time for talking, and a time for being quiet...and then there is the time when you really need your voice because it's another horrendous and important week at work...and your body just doesn't care, because you made it work a 13-hour day on Tuesday, and you don't let it sleep enough, and you keep feeding it take-out rather than fresh vegetables...so your body gives up the fight. It breaks down. It lets you get that nasty sore throat and achey muscles. And that rattling cough? Yep, bring that on too. And don't forget the kicker - non-stop fevers and a fond farewell to your voice.

Thanks to years of practice, I'm pretty good at taking care of myself when I'm sick. I can't rub my own shoulders, which I detest, but aside from that, I get by.

This week, however, has knocked me out. By Thursday afternoon I'd sunk into the depths of ill hell where everything hurts...teeth, eyes, shins, hair, every muscle and a throat so swollen I swear it was trying to strangle me.

Staggering around work, home and the doctor's office was like an out of body experience. With pain. Still, I could manage it (barely). But not being able to talk? Oh my monkey, how friggen annoying! I've been lying around ("resting"), which I know is what leads to getting better...but hours of not moving, trapped in my own head and a body screaming cold/flu/fever horrendousness...well, that's a surefire way to go insane.

It's pretty difficult to call for a doctor's appointment when you can't talk, impossible to answer the phone, and trying to tell someone what hurts just becomes a game of charades. We've moved beyond aching shoulders wanting to be squeezed. Never before has being single seemed like such an impediment.

Surprisingly, I've found it's the silly little everyday things that I'm aching to share. The work stuff can be handled with enough grunting and pointing (says a lot for work, when you think about it), but I haven't yet been able to tell Teen about the truck that smashed into the entire row of parked cars outside my apartment, haven't been able to try to talk on the phone with an almost-3-year-old Paige, wasn't able to call Tuck on his moving day and tell him how brave I think his decision to leave New York is, and tomorrow night before going to The Nutcracker, I may just end up being the worst dinner date Teen will ever have. Poor girl.

My mind whirls with the things I cannot say - everything I cannot say. And while I'm happy to be on the mend and no longer confined to my bed, I'm looking forward to no longer being confined to myself, either.

If tomorrow I wake and am able to croak a little more than today, well, then swapping this year's festivus party for 2 tablespoons of NyQuil will have been worth it. After all, it's only weeks before Christmas (also known as my favorite time of year) and I've got a lot of shopping and talking to do.

My city is waiting.


My life is waiting. Time to hop to it.