Alternate Title: Weekend At Joely’s
In reality, it was David who should have died last weekend, because Angela and I spent nearly every night coughing on him in stereo. We had grown up beds and David was on the air mattress between us just being blanketed by our expelled phlegmy horribleness. His immune system must have been fortified against attack by the constant regimen of Taco Bell and boxed macaroni he crams into his crambox. His body is so used to being force fed disgusting poison bullshit, that a few germs and viri must seem like a packet of mild sauce.
I never been as sick during a convention as I was during Emerald City Comicon last weekend. I lost my voice immediately and spent the entire weekend trying to interact with fans and fellow cartoonists alike in garbled, mangled cough-whispers and hack-spasmed Tuvan throat singing. I almost broke down during dinner one night when the frustration of noting being able to be heard or understood, constantly having to repeat myself and more often that not just NOT saying anything when I had something to say started to get to me. I hadn’t really thought about how much of my identity was hinged on my voice. Take away my ability to command a room with my voice, tell stories, make jokes, sing, etc. and there isn’t much of ME left. It was pretty depressing, but my friends certainly helped me make the best of it.
COMMENTERS: Have you (or anyone close to you) ever lost an ability and had to relearn it, or otherwise compensate for it? When I was a kid I broke my right thumb and had to learn how to eat with my left hand. Doesn’t sound like that big of a deal, but it took a lot of practice and I can still use silverware ambidextrously.