Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Gay And Crumbly Dreams, He Ain't Heavy, What's Meaning "New", And Chalk

I have been having the weirdest dreams lately. I think that they are coming out of a combination of the fact that I have not been remembering my dreams well since August and that I have finally been getting more than four hours of sleep, which has been a problem for me since the Fiery One left on his trip. The first dream was about being out partying with a Man I know, who is completely out as a homosexual. No really, that is relevant. In my dream, the Fiery One was at home while I was out on the town with Man. We were getting a little drunk with a large group of younger gay men, when all of a sudden, he turns and starts pressing his lips against mine. I pushed him off, both because I am happily married and he is gay, but he kept it up the whole evening at every bar we went to. Finally, I got perturbed and demanded to know what he thought he was doing. He told me that even though he was gay, he was finding his urges to touch me uncontrollable. My dream ended there, and I have chosen not to explore it too deeply. I don’t have fantasies about turning gay men straight, so I am going to assume that this dream came out of the sexual frustration born of the Fiery One’s extended absence. In my second dream, which happened a couple of days after the first, I was hanging out with friends alone. When I woke up, I didn’t know any of the people I had dreamt about, but in the dream they were old and dear friends. My friends all lived in older buildings, and while visiting the first of the two buildings, which was made of dark brown brick, I wandered upstairs to take a look around, because I was curious about the construction I had heard was going on up there. When I got up there, everything was chalky, white, and easily crumbled. There were plastic sheets hanging here and there, and I was filled with a nervousness that only precedes true and merciless gore, so I went back downstairs and followed my friends to another building. This second building was white outside and sat on a broad expanse of land, like some kind of estate. I was told right off that I should, under no circumstances, go upstairs, because they were rebuilding the upper floors and it was quite dangerous. Of course, this piqued my curiosity, so I crawled out a window and hoisted myself up to a second-floor balcony. Again, everything was white and chalky, only more so, as though the entire remains of the upper floor had merely been coated thickly in plaster of paris. As a result, the doorways and windows were deeper and smaller than expected. I walked gingerly through the first room and had barely entered the hallway when I felt the whole story shift, and I nearly didn’t make it to the balcony from which I leapt to avoid the complete collapse of the area I had been in. And that was it – dream end. I am going to ignore the gay boss sexual harassment thing, and focus on the crumbly, white building parts. My terrible dream dictionary tells me only about old buildings that are falling apart and not good character buildings that are being remodelled upstairs. Hmmm. Supposedly, according to my dream dictionary, the mix of these two might mean a happy home with profitable undertakings combined with ill health and a decay of love and business. A happy home with ill health, or rich without love? I will just keep dreaming, I guess. And wait ever so patiently for the Fiery One to arrive home from his travels and sate whatever hungers I have for intellectual and intimate contact.

The song “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” (written by Russell and Scott and released by Neil Diamond in 1970) has been stuck in my head for a full two days now, and I have no idea where I picked it up. It’s not a song that gets played everywhere. At any rate, in an effort to remove it from my head, I looked up the words to it, because I find that I usually don’t remember all the words to the songs that get stuck in my head, and if I can sing the song all the way through correctly, then I am freed. Well, it hasn’t worked. How long must this go on? “The road is long, with many a winding turn...

A lady asked this of me at work about something we sell:
“Is this new?” Keep in mind that we are not a consignment or used things store. Everything we have is new.
“Do you mean ‘new to you’? Or do you mean new, as in never used before? Or, do you mean new, as in we just got this in recently?”
“Yeah,” she nodded at me, as though I had understood her perfectly.
“Yes, it’s new... here... at this store.”
And after that, she seemed quite content in her knowledge that all the things for sale were new in some respect, and she left me alone to go and shop on her own.

Chalk Facts and Links:
* Chalk is a soft, white rock, an almost pure carbonate of lime. When examined under a microscope, it is mostly made up of tiny skeletons and shells of creatures which once lived in the sea, and when they died and sank to the bottom, they formed a thick deposit. Chalk hills were at one time below the sea, and have since been raised by movements of the Earth's crust.
* If you draw a line of chalk around the windows and doors outside your home and around water pipes inside your home, ants will not enter. Ants will not cross a chalk line.
* Slugs, also, will not cross a chalk line.
* Placing a piece of chalk in your jewellery box will stop silver jewellery from tarnishing.
* Most chalk used today is comprised of fine abrasives and does not contain a speck of chalk.
* Why does a piece of chalk produce a squeal if you hold it incorrectly, and what determines the pitch you hear? Find your answers here.
* Please read this very dry essay from 1896 entitled “The Destruction and Shattering of the Chalk of Eastern England.” On second thought, don’t, unless you truly love chalk.
* The botanical name for Baby’s Breath, gypsophila, means “love chalk,” which refers to its preference for chalky soil.

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