No, I'm not in love.
On the other hand, neither has anyone regaled me with astounding displays of stupidity - well, maybe we can make the star of McVie's latest post an exception.
No, I've simply lost my voice. Literally.
Must be the four consecutive nights of amped-up stress and little sleep trying to get as many commercials on air as I humanly can before every student and pupil in this land get finally settled in their classrooms.
And no, let's not blame my smoking for this. My future heart attack already has dibs on that.
It's fucking annoying trying to chew suppliers out when one sounds like Chuchi. On the plus side, my breaking voice reminded me of the time I hit puberty and for about four agonizing months I sounded like some hyperactive three-year old was given free rein to fiddle around with the pitch settings in my voice box.
Wait, that doesn't sound like something on the plus side. But the joy of discovering my pubes sure was.
But I digress.
After two days of sounding like the mutant child of Rod Stewart, Kim Carnes, and Bonnie Tyler lovingly wrapped in sandpaper, I have officially lost all capacity for human speech. Good thing, though, that like any bona fide Filipino, I can still point with my nguso.
Oh, well. As a certain renowned establishment someplace in Pasay touts: "The thrill is silence."
I'm so ecstatic I could just spit tacks.
Then again, silence does speak volumes.
So until I get my voice back, looks like I'll be taking Tyra's advice and scowl with my eyes.
Sorry, lady, I got nuthin' for ya.