First, I finally identified the voice I hear in my head when I speak with this laryngitis: Harvey Fierstein. I sound exactly like him, minus the Noo Yawk, inside my head. I don't want to know what I sound like outside my head.
My voice is slowly getting better, though Cupcake tells me that this lasts two weeks and I'm just wrapping up week one. Today we had an office outing and went bowling. There are at least three nice bowling alleys within 20 minutes of the office, but we went to one way out in East Jesus. It was a nice place, but, damn. It was not that nice, and it was so far out there in nowhere.
I can't bowl anymore. I am sad about this, because I used to be a good bowler and I used to enjoy it, but it's on the list of things I can't do, like wearing 3 inch heels on a daily basis. My right arm is too screwed up. This was disappointing.
I used to be a damn good bowler, back in the day. I grew up quasi-middle-class redneck, we bowled a lot, it was the thing to do. When my husband was in the Air Force it was one of the few activities that we poor young 20somethings could all afford, so we bowled with AF staff at the Pentagon. I was the one everybody wanted on the team, because I had a hook that could pick up a 7-10 split when the hook was working, and it usually was.
I used to be a damn good bowler. The hook is gone, my wrist is too weak, I can't control it anymore. The weakness between the elbow and the hand is bad enough when opening a jar, controlling a bowling ball, forget it. And you know, I'm okay with this as long as I have my fine motor skills that allow me to type and knit, and I'd rather not risk those by pushing the bowling thing. A career as a pro bowler was never on my to-do list, so it's not like this is a dream crushed, but still, it's a loss of a thing I used to be able to do.
And this is a big round metaphor for all of the things that change in life and that you don't appreciate them until you can't do them and you look around and realize that Oh Fuck I'm Getting Old. And it also triggered a coughing fit that lasted half the afternoon and left me with a sore throat, so it also proves that being a good sport doesn't pay.
Tomorrow I will share pictures of the ugliest sock I've ever made.