First off, my dogs seem to love it. Except for Jody Beth, who can be a bit snooty.
Reading out loud forces me to speak every word, even those I murder in my pronunciation. I practice inflections in my voice. I go up and down in volume and tone, as if someone in the room really cares.
As an occasional stutterer, I get in some good practice in belly breathing. Just for the fun of it, sometimes I stutter on purpose just to know I’m in control.
You already know I’m a bit nuts, so it shouldn’t surprise you to learn I often pretend I’m reading to special guests. Yesterday, Mark Twain was in my audience. My mom, Irene, loves to hear me read. She often claps to let me know I’m such a good boy. My father, Vern, exits my room with haste to watch “Bonanza.” Tonight, I plan to read to the entire band of girls I had a crush on in high school. Standing room only.
You might try this one evening when you feel a bit lonely or underappreciated. Let me know how it goes.
Clyde