Thursday, April 6, 2017

Mute and Angry

I know that my speech will get better again but I’m mute again this morning. Dwight says what we’re learning is that there is an ebb and flow in my mental health. When he called yesterday morning I all I could do was make a humming sound to let him know I was there.
I took two medications in advance of meeting friends for our first Wholester adventure. We were six; we met in the Indigo lobby and took the express bus to the campus where first we had lunch and then we went to the Museum of Anthropology. I think it was a success; I guess I’ll find out if people want to do it again next month. My speech wasn’t too bad perhaps because I was face to face with them. I stayed on my own in the museum.
I came home stoked about getting back to working on my dresses. I’m finishing the doily dress (#8) and I love the work and the outcome. I really love it; I forget my problems and escape deeply into it. Meanwhile … another week has gone by with no word from Boca. Pooey!
Dwight phoned again last evening and it was just impossible to speak; I’ve absolutely no idea why. We’re going to have lunch together on Friday to see how my speech goes in person with him.
When I say I am mute, I mean it. I’m right back to where I was a year ago. Today is April 6, 2017. It was April 9, 2016 when I lost my speech. But I regained a lot of ground over the past year and then last Monday I crashed again. What is it with me and the month of April?
It’s true: I’m mute. But if I really push, I can say a word or a few words but I stutter on every one and that leads to my arm and upper back muscles aching.
Something happened Monday. I felt like shit when I woke up. I’d get up, walk around a bit and wind up going back to bed for a long lie down — not sleep; escape. Then I’d get up and just want to go back to bed so I would and that went on until well into the afternoon and ever since I’ve found speaking impossible.
I am going to a party on Saturday. It’s a birthday party and I am to make the cake so I have to go. I am taking my car (my safe room), two medications and my emergency meds and don’t plan to stay long.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck. And Beth comes in a few weeks. At least with her and with Dwight, I can do better —I can get words out. And I’ve three weeks to improve before Beth arrives. Perhaps Dr. Shoja will suggest upping my medications; maybe that would bring some relief.
I sent a request about the availability of the PAL theatre next season. And I’ve asked for the cost, of course. But the obvious plan B for my show is to produce it myself. I just don’t know the theatre companies locally, or have the previous experience to know how to get a show produced by a producer.
I think I’ll get someone who can speak better than me to accompany me to the Fringe Festival offices to see about producing with them too.
I’m not going to suffer much of a setback if/when Boca says No thank you.

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