Sunday, January 12, 2014

casper yourself

***12/ 8/ 13

Sometimes in whispers.  Sometimes in rasps.  Sometimes not at all. 

My voice.  I've used it all my life, presumably vociferously there in the beginning, complaining of goo. Reportedly, I became taciturn shortly thereafter as a countermeasure to my big bother's vehement protest to, if not my very existence then certainly to my very presence.  In the same report, this taciturnity continued until kindergarten when all Legion broke loose (as compared to my erstwhile cherubic demeanor, that is) and a series untoward events led to my dismissal as a candidate for K-5. Which you might as well know now that I trust with my sensitive topics, dear reader, means that I failed kindergarten. 

And I haven't shut-up since. 


Until last Spring when GBM announced its existence/ presence from a scroll of other unpleasantries by reducing my voice to whispers and rasps. To inscrutable exasperations and void exhalations. 

Which simply wouldn't do. So, at the expense of a grocery or to-do list I started communicating by dry-erase board.  Briefly communicating.  In between frequent "erasdrerer"[sic] (finger smear, raspy oath, shirttail retry) erasures. Which would simply have to do.

[Consumer report: "Dry"-erase "mark"-ers are available in a number of varieties, specifically two--illegibly beige and immediately ink-less.]

It is one thing to "speak" at your leisure in living rooms passing your board amongst family and friends and quite another to your MRI technician in the dark mission-control room of the clinic's basement-relegated radiology hub--no one to love you or hand you another marker. Quite, quite another when mistakenly left to your own devices (apologies presently offered, tardily accepted--no way to treat she of the love and markers, I confess) with the laboratory nurse and you're  unable pee in a cup, scarcely able to explain when asked, "do huh?" or "how what now?" Neither vocally due to circumstance nor by charades due to decency.

They don't advise you when you're a young buck to take notes on your speech development.  They don't suggest keeping a Crayola journal of your nearerest thoughts on the matter.  Frankly, why would they? What an inauspicious foresight that would be! 

"In the unlikely event of a relapse into your current toddling helplessness how will know what steps to take in order convey meaning?  What if you get lost in the mall making a break for the toy store while your mother dilly-dallies in J. C. Penney? What if you'd like another half-dozie oysters except this time Rockefeller instead of raw?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," you'd've been unable to say. But soon, without record.

"Or how deploy that sass-back, you've become so fond of?" they'll respond when the time comes, but soon.

But sometimes . . . unlikely events. And you'll have to learn again. Only this time, take notes, keep a journal . . . just do it . . . no sass-back. Because you never know . . . trust me, young buck, you just never know.

***12/ 9/ 13 

Top 10 Things You Never Want To Have To Resign Yourself To:

#s 3 - 9] TBD. 
# 2] Biting your tongue and/ or inner cheek at least 3 times a day.
# 1] Resignation.

***12/ 12/ 13 

More fun with multiforme. "More" as in additional, as adjoining to previous examples. Not "more” as in heightened, as transcending previous examples soon to include the following examples. Because  I think we can all agree that it doesn't get any more fun in the latter regard than as things stand; I deal in realms of possibility, not in faerie kingdoms.     

Equivi-fun with multiforme:

As the numbness in your left hand (or right, whichever applies to your predicament) continues to grow,  performance of its prior duties will become more difficult--perhaps to the point of downright unfeasible.

Do not despair. Not yet any way.  Embrace the novelty.  Experiment.  Put your own twists on these suggestions.  Add your own flavors. There are no right or wrong implications, just ones with varying heebie-jeebies factors.  

> Congratulate yourself when no one else was around to see you button your own sleeve cuffs by performing the old surreptitious yawn move from movie theaters and then, when you least expect it, pat yourself on the back. You'll only feel the contact from behind, not in your hand, creating a neuro- tactile misfire that allows for an un accustomed dual sensation. [Note: this seeming disconnect is the presiding principle in each example.]! 

> Console yourself after a particularly flustering day. Maybe your favorite team continues to watch from stands, eating nachos and photo bombing the Kiss-Cam, worse than that, they play their best games that way. Maybe you lost the extremities race by (1 lousy pt) as a result a bogus referee call counting "zounds!" as slightly beyond mild oath adhering to a Middle-Ages interpretation of the rules. Whatever's got you flustered just relax, place your hand caressingly on your thigh, throw your voice, say, "now, now, there, there."

> Casper yourself. Not that this one is under your control. Thus the maximum heebie-jeebies factor accorded to it. Just wait as if for a meteor, as if for your P.F. Chang's table to become available, as if anything you've been expecting for an hour in the cold, that you had nearly given up on, becomes a jarring reality.  Just wait.  For, in a moment of dumb listlessness you'll feel something on the back of neck and bristle . . . Casper! Or you trying to reach an itch. Wouldn't you like to know? Or, in a moment more, your  glasses rise up the bridge of your nose--some invisible force anticipating the need . . . Casper! Or a band of gang-banging Lilliputian teens trying to jack your specs. Time may never tell.  Or, forsaking the wait, you have gone to bed and fallen asleep. Or have you?  What just pulled your blanket up to your throat? And is it to cozy you up or to snuff you out? Or,have you been muttering Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice in a delirium of MSG?

12/ 21/13

Sometimes in voiceless blasts. Sometimes in bullfrog blarps. Sometimes in demoniac chortles.

My laughter.  

Hard enough to control when there are other options. Voiced blasts, for one. Those  embedded hints that distinguish between possible lunacy and workaday joke appreciation.  Subtle hints: "Ha, ha" (grin, giggle) "yep, oh, yep, no you're right, because it's true" (nod, chuckle). Not so subtle: "Bwah, hah, ohhh, yep, bwah, hoo. Good one, I'm stealing that one (patina of tears on eyes, AWOL guffaw)!  Not in the least subtle:  Buh-Booogah (milkshake eruption) oh, gah, oh gah, no, no, stop, stop (knee-slap, chest pound) I said 'shut-uh-uhp!' (things getting real, friendships tested, strawberry-snot--'now with real strawberries!'--bungee-ing from chin.
For two, hominid blarps.

For three, carbon-based chortles. 
These and other options not available to the articulatorily-challenged.

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