You know, the voice that SHOUTS WHEN YOU READ THIS. Or speedsupalittlewhenyoureadthis. Or reads. This. Sentence. Really. Haltingly. And reads this in a regular voice.
Well, I was thinking about what the voice in my head actually sounds like. When I'm writing, I read my sentences in my own voice. When I'm reading a text, I read the sentence in the manner of whoever it was that texted me. On the off chance that I get a letter or a note, I also read it in a voice. But when I'm reading any book, any blog (even if it's the blog of a vlogger and I know how they talk), or anything I wrote in the past, it sounds like this...this...monotone, more-masculine version of me murmuring. And I'm a mezzo-soprano, kids. Drink that in. Imagine how that would sound. Just weird. But the voice in my head is not weird, it's just there. That's how it is. I don't really control it. Or talk to it to ask it why it is the way it is. And anyway, I suspect a conversation with my voice would go something like this:
Me: Hi!
Inner Voice: Hi!
Me: How's it going?
IV: How's it going?
Me: What?
IV: What?
Me: Hang on.
IV: Hang on.
Me: Ohhhh. Wait, you are me- I didn't really think this through.
IV: No, you didn't.
And then I would get nowhere. And realize that my Inner Voice is a sarcastic little eejit. But it is me.
Quote for Sunday, April 17, 2011:
The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.
-Alice Walker
Muse for Today:
I hate Sundays. They're like a runner to Mondays- especially Sunday nights. I always settle into an unwilling feeling of doom. Like the night before my hanging, and a pardon is virtually impossible. The anticipation makes the week so much worse. I think Sunday nights are worse than Monday mornings.
No comments:
Post a Comment