To borrow a phrase from British slang, “I’ve certainly got a gob.” To those in the States that don’t bathe themselves in British Telly, the gob refers to the mouth. The phrase refers to someone who talks, perhaps at times, excessively.
I admit it. I talk a lot. Hell, my blogging style is designed to read in the same manner I talk. (This is much to the chagrin of my wonderful spouse who is an amazingly talented editor.) My horoscope (if you buy into such things) even suggests that my personal well-being is tied into my ability to communicate. (To those in the know: my natal Mercury and Venus are conjunct within a degree of each other.)
I also absolutely love to sing. I have almost no faith whatever in the quality of my singing voice. Granted, I can tell you exactly which two people in college did that damage.
For the second time this week, I have woken up unable to speak. Earlier in the week it was from being fairly sick. Today, I don’t feel sick; but I’ll spare the rather unpleasant details of what has tied up my voice today. Suffice it to say, I can’t make any sound today with my mouth beyond breathing and whistling.
Now, over time, I have already begun to compensate for this. My wife (@livingartist on twitter) is moderately hearing impaired. With hearing aids she is highly functional. (Personally I’d say 90%). However, in the morning, when she wakes she is not wearing her aids.
I have developed my own personal sign language. This is effectively about 5% ASL and 95% “AndreiCharades.” I’d say it’s about 70% effective. (I have lots of statistics in this post. I do so acknowledging that 52.3% of all statistics have no basis in measurable reality.)
Oddly, there are times when I fall into AnSL (Andrei Sign Language) when my wife doesn’t need it. I may not be aware that she’s wearing her hearing aids. My wife has lovely hair that covers her ears. I find that when she tells me that she can hear me, it takes a moment for me to adjust back to using my voice. Effectively, I’ve been rendered temporarily mute as a side effect of her hearing impairment.
In “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” there is a monstrous creature known as “The Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal.” Terrifying, dangerous, destructive, and above all else… stupid beyond measure. If you are being attacked, pursued, chased (what have you) by the RBBoT, the best form of escape is to stop running and wrap a towel around your head. Why? The RBBoT is so stupid that it believes that if you can’t see it, it cannot see you. In my opinion, this is truly delicious, twisted and broken logic.
Let me back up again. For some reason that I can’t explain, I have the belief that, if my wife can’t hear me: I can’t talk. Yes, I have truly achieved the level of stupidity of a comedy-science fiction joke of logic. I assure the reader that I am not an idiot. (At least I didn’t used to be an idiot; it may, however, be a side effect of becoming a parent)
I have discovered this morning that this debilitating disease of logic however may be contagious. As I mentioned, this morning I woke up with absolutely no ability to speak at all. I took to pantomiming. In turn she started signing to me.
She said that she was signing to me because she forgot that I could hear her.