Feeling: stymied
Listening to: Fiona Apple - Extraordinary Machine
Reading/Watching: Veronica Mars, catching up to present episodes

Seriously, I want my voice back.

It was funny at first, with the croaky-frog noises I could make, and the fact that I became an insta-bass, and could back up the TTB songs for Best Little Whorehouse, and then two weeks of funny went by and I still couldn't sing.

You know how singers get, when they're broken? Jittery. Agitated. There used to be a faucet through which emotions could be let loose, and now the knobs are broken.

The pressure is building in the pipes, man. If this is God's way of getting even with me for not using my voice for anything of substance for the past eight months, I heartily apologize. School was out, and all I had were lame church jobs, not a hint of opera or vocal juries to spur me along.

So yeah, I get it. I was taking it for granted. My voice is the thing that makes me "me," the thing that makes me not my siblings, cousins, friends, or co-workers. Singing is an integral part of what builds a Katie. I should have remembered that, and continued to learn on my own, picking up new challenging pieces to learn, tackling new languages or new styles, developing my jazz-scat, hammering away at my range, throwing myself into some hardcore coloratura work, preparing for grad school auditions and basically just keeping myself sharp (or, more accurately, on pitch [ha, music theory humor]).

My soul gets tamped in, compressed, and quite cramped when I can't sing properly, and yes, coughing or cracking every time I try to let loose and howl constitutes "can't sing properly." It's like my faucet isn't screwed on tightly enough, so instead of channeling all that energy into a steady, graceful flow, it's splattering everywhere.

So yeah. Ready to be better now. Persistent cough and reedy voice, can you please go die now? 'Kaythanks.

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