Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Personal

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The pressure on my chest has almost entirely subsided.

First, my life had to grind to a complete halt when I became actually too sick to go to work which was quickly followed up by the one-two punch of our snow-storm and losing my voice completely on the same pair of days.

That was unspeakably lovely, let me tell you.

Losing my voice is terrifying for me. You’d think as an only child with a constantly-running internal monologue I wouldn’t mind it so much, since I grew up entirely inside my own head. Yet, on some days my voice is the only thing in my life I feel like I have real control over. I know it can be quick and swishy when I’m talking at rapid-fire pace, but I’m a long way from the boy with no indoor voice or the guy who lost his voice after every big show. I know how to use my voice with intent now, and it’s a big part of my identity – even beyond singing

That’s why this week was so punishing – I didn’t do anything wrong, really, except sing lightly on it for one night, but my entire chest area was in an precarious enough state of affairs that that did me in.

The terrible thing is that in this new age of Peter when I lose my voice I go into this shame/self-pity spiral where I don’t want to do ANYTHING. I had planned to do a special recording project to promote the show last night (more on that tomorrow), and I couldn’t do that. Then I went into petulant mode, where I didn’t want to do anything for the blog because I was angry that being sick put me off my blog schedule.

I remembered a time before my voice really mattered to me – before I even had an inkling of singing and was still a neophyte on the stage. Back then my voice wasn’t what you’d hear out loud coming from my mouth. It was my words on a page. And, even being so hoarse that it hurts to squeak out a whisper can’t deny me that.

So, I started the next book of my NaNoWriMo project. Actually, more than started it – I wrote over 10,000 words in two days, a total bolt of plot I had only a vague idea of before I started.

Now I have my voice back (shockingly intact after last night), the start of a new book, and a chest newly free of pressure.

It feels really good.

pressure on my chest

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I claim not to make New Year’s Resolutions, but that doesn’t stop me from taking on a slew of new projects every January and getting crushed under their collective weight.

They’re not resolutions, I reason, they’re fresh starts. Lots of projects, blogging, and singing in store for the new year that simply didn’t make sense to start in the bustle of December due to all the holiday downtime. It’s a wishlist of personal creativity, every successive idea mounting like a weight against my heart and mind, lest I let it slip away.

Not coincidentally, I have a similar streak of getting sick every January for the past few years, which leads directly into my debilitating, house-bound February Funk. It doesn’t matter if I get a flu shot, take my vitamins, eat well, get good sleep, and slam down OJ all day. Somehow, some way, a tickle of sickness finds its way into my throat until it becomes tightness in my chest.

I hate it.

First, because I am not that person. I don’t get sick. Or, I didn’t, but now I do with great predictable accuracy, and I hate it.

Even more, I hate that it completely derails my ambition for the year – playing gigs, recording projects, and new songs all go by the wayside while I’m hoarse and scratchy for half a month.

This week I started feeling that familiar, dreaded tickle and fought back hard.  More vitamins, more food, more sleep, and more OJ. I seem to have staved off the actual illness, but I’m still feeling the after-effects – the pressure on my chest.

I hate it, and it made learning vocals to our new Filmstar song hard, it’s going to make my rehearsal of our Garbage tribute set suck, and it transformed the advertising tour of the airport I just walked through into a special kind of marathon.

That’s all fine. It is not getting into the way of my plans for 2011. There will be no February Funk.