It’s always funny to me the way you imagine something going and then how reality happens. For instance, I’d imagined a holiday vacation from teaching in which I’d hang out with the kids, we’d do art projects, and then when they were with their dad, I’d read and write and, you know, frolic.
Then I got booked to narrate five audio books and I adjusted my vacation fantasy. I’d narrate for three weeks in between the holiday celebration and then have a week to play, read, write, and frolic. I could still have my picture-perfect vacation, I’d just have to speed it up.
Then, I got sick. Like, really sick. Like….I lost my voice for two full days sick. I ended up laying on the couch whispering and pantomiming things to the kids. The kids got a little cranky about this and then became like primal beasts because I couldn’t talk to them and tell them things like “stop touching each other” and “get that out of your nose”. No. They basically had a weekend of running wild with face paint and sticks.
The narration was pushed back so I lost my final week of vacation. Now, I’m almost recovered, but in the morning I still sound like a very old, pissed off Jewish man, hacking and coughing. And my voice is all husky. Not a bad thing for the character I’m playing, but still, a little uncomfortable.
I’d also imagined a romantic blissful holiday with Kealoha. I’m not sure what I was really thinking, except in my mind everything sparkled and had that weird hazy quality they do in films when there’s a musical montage and it shows two people falling in love. They laugh and feed each other pancakes, and hold hands, and walk through a flower market, and then make love in soft lighting and the woman character never has any stretch marks. I won’t say I was imagining exactly that, but I did think, I don’t know, soft lighting maybe and a date night and I do like pancakes.
Well, Kealoha caught my cold so the reality was both of us lying on the couch, slightly sweaty with itchy eyes. Actually, I was lying on the couch, and Kealoha was sitting up so his nasal passages can drain. We coughed and blew noses and compared illnesses like we were both old, grumpy men. I tried to flirt with Kealoha a couple of times but he just blew his nose. Loudly. It’s hard to be sexy when you can’t breathe.
Now I’m heading back into the studio for another eight hours of narration. I do love narrating, but it’s hard not moving for eight hours and I feel puffy. I have to eat big breakfasts and lunches to keep my stomach from growling, pop decongestants, not move, and I just feel like a sick, bloated, stretch-marked, hacking, worn-out, thirty-seven-year old instead of the sleek movie star I’d envisioned being over the holiday.
Oh well. This will pass. We’ll get better. And, I guess, there’s always spring break to look forward to.
In case you're curious, my fantasy vacation included cheesy scenes like this: