Burnt Out

....or rather, the fire in my throat has burnt out. I, myself, have been feeling burnt out for a while. The latest development in the illness saga is that while my throat no longer feels as if it lost a fight with a packet of razor blades followed by a lemon juice chaser, it had mysteriously gone on strike.

I woke up this morning tired (thanks, Daylight Savings Time!) but feeling much better overall. There was some minor hacking in the shower as the hot water loosened my chest up, but my first clue that Something Was Not Right was in the car on the way to work. I've been blasting the most recent Evanescence album for about a month now, and trilling along with Amy Lee. Imagine my surprise when my usual soprano voice did a fairly convincing "Alvin and the Chipmunks" impersonation.

It was decidedly off to realize that I was about to head into a classroom with 16 rambunctious charges with no voice to speak of. I relied a lot on pseudo-sign language today, coupled with a lot of "come close so I can whisper to you" gestures. There was a lot of pointing, and a lot of raised eyebrows as well. I'll let you all imagine how swimmingly my day went. Go ahead -- imagine. I'll wait. Okay. Got a picture in your head? Now, instead superimpose that image with one of the mushroom clouds after the nuclear tests on Bikini Atoll, and you're just about there.

To cap the night off, Offspring gets a frantic text message from a school friend that the super duper, miss-the-WHOLE-day-of-school field trip she's been DYING to go on only has about 13 slots left. She panics, and thrusts the phone at me to call the travel agent in order to secure one of those last seats. Of course, they are closed for the day. OF COURSE. My life wouldn't have it any other way. I leave a very squeaky voice mail for the agent, and hope like hell they can decipher it.

And, in keeping with the "Once again, the Devil farts in my face" tradition, the very minute I am off the phone, Offspring bursts into the room, saying that the message that she got from her friend was "just a joke." Well, of course it was! AND I get to pony up $116 for the privilege, too!

Granted, the trip is an educational one, and one that I'd like to go on, if given the chance. (They're going to see the King Tut exhibit and the Terracotta Army in Atlanta.) I can't go however, because of this pesky thing called work, and because we will be leaving not even 24 hours later on a Girl Scout trip to go snow-skiing. Don't worry, I'm not taking the ankle biters -- this trip is Offspring's troop. We'll be driving to West Virginia, so I will need plenty of rest beforehand. Which means no back-to-back trips for good old Mom. Poor old Dad won't be going on EITHER trip. He'd have to bunk with a bunch of Boy Scouts he doesn't know for the skiing trip, and he's not exactly what one would call a social animal.

So, I'm off to bed in hopes that my voice will return as mysteriously as it left. If not, I have another day of pointing and gesturing ahead. What fun!