|My trusty notebook of silence|
Not in the romantic, poetical sense, but quite literally.
I can't make a sound. I can try and squeeze out some cracked syllable but even that makes my throat feel like there's a fork pressing into it.
Courtesy of the winter flu, thank you very much.
It's been a bit nightmarish. I can't ask the lecturer questions in class, I can't swear when I spill something on the floor, I can't shout out to the rickshaw driver from across the road, I can't call somebody I see down the corridor. I was closing a chest today and the lid fell shut on my fingers - I couldn't even scream!
Lots of flailing your arms around involved when you're forced to be silent. *Flail* when you're angry. *Flail* when you want food. *Flail* hey hey look over here I'm trying to tell you somet- too late, they didn't hear you, they're walking away (likely, fleeing from the strange girl flailing wildly at them).
First world problems.
The perk is that the housemates are treating me like a proper invalid, so they cooked me an amazing dinner and even mixed me up some homely medicine (ginger and honey - ew).
I have to say I'm starting to get used to it, this silence stuff is starting to grow on me. I have a little notebook I carry around, each page has something important that I'm likely to say (the last time this happened, I had cue cards): 'Hey man', 'Have you seen my earphones?', 'I'm studying right now', 'ASSHOLE', 'Is this a clove?', 'HA HA HA', etc. I have emergency messages scribbled on my palms as well. An acquaintance at the canteen exclaimed, 'Hey why is shifani so quiet today?' - so, excited to make use of my new emergency-messages prepared for the occasion, I shot up my right palm at her which was to read I LOST MY VOICE. She read it and frowned at me and abruptly walked off to the library. I looked at my palm; it was a message I'd left for myself: REMEMBER TO BUY ONIONS -- shit, wrong hand. Goddammit, this is going to take some practice.