Losing my voice

I’ve been trying to post this new round of story for this whole week, but something kept coming up. Work, family business, my sleep. Gone are the days when I pulled all-nighters to get something done in a specific time. These days I am useless after 7 pm, or 19:00, as we say in Sweden.

Anyway, losing my voice was a pain in the A. At the time, now around seven (!) years ago, I probably walked around thinking about the parallels to Frank Zappa having his voice drop an octave due to an accident. I agreed to what he had said. Something along the lines of “having a low voice is nice, but I would have preferred a different way of acquiring it.” It was hard work to talk with my voice. At one point, two nurses came in to check my throat and see if they could help. They showed a bunch of instruments down my throat and into my nostrils, then proceeded to ask me polite questions about various things. They seemed oblivious to the fact that it was almost impossible for me to talk with my face full of metal rods.

Anyway, enough of my yammering. Thanks for coming here and reading.

Big hugs,

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