I lost my voice again. Now, this isn't a shock to any of us because I always lose my voice,

but I went a solid month where my voice sounded crystal clear, no hoarseness, maybe a little bit

of raspiness, but that's just who I am. My voice sounded incredible. It sounded beautiful.

I sounded like Ariana Grande when I was talking.

Okay? It sounded like a whistle tone. An Ariana Grande whistle tone when I was talking. It was that

crispy. It was that sharp. Now it's gone again. I think there's something wrong with my vocal

chords. I'm a little bit concerned about it. I think I will be going to the doctor

soon because it's just a little bit weird how often I lose my voice. Whatever, I'll get to the bottom

of it. For now, I'm just going to eat a lot of Ludens cherry cough drops and cross my fingers

and hope for the best. I just downed a cough drop. It was delicious.

I'm feeling good and I'm ready to talk.

So, recently I've been thinking about cringe, the feeling of cringe.

And I've been sort of trying to figure it out.

Let me explain why.

I noticed that with myself, I know when something's cringe. I can look at

something and be like, that's cringe. I can do something and be like, Emma, that was cringe.

But I rarely ask myself why it was cringe. It's rare that I'm fully aware of why something is

cringe. I just know if it's cringe or not. It's very black and white

in my brain. And if it's like that for me, I have to assume it's also like that for other people.

We know when something is cringe, but we don't always know why it's cringe. And I think

cringe is worthy of investigating because I don't think any of us want to be cringe. I think most of

us want to avoid being cringe. And I don't think it's possible to completely avoid being cringe,

...