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.

The Fiery One Is Back, Dream Hell, I'm No Demi-God, Spring Sucks, And Sexy Fruit

I am so glad that the Fiery One is back from his work trip. I didn't mention it, but he was away in the United States for eight days and came back on Thursday. I turn into such a sap when he's away for too long that I saved his messages on our answering machine so that I could hear his voice if I got desperate. It's true. While I was at home pining, he got to meet some light show guy from Las Vegas, a robot building fire-eater, and a woman who was held hostage for 444 days. He also got to go to a Stereolab concert with Luvabeans, which I understand went very well. I will keep my envy at his concert-going and Luvabeans-meeting to a low simmer, though, because I get to go to a Pixies concert on April 15th, which is only two days away, and that at least makes up for the Stereolab part, if not the part about getting to ride Chicago's subways.

My dreams last night were horrific. In fact, the plural is incorrect, because my dreaming was more like an extended sequence of physically and emotionally violent scenarios in which I felt absolutely and completely fucking helpless. It was pure nastiness all 'round. I was yelled at, beaten, insulted, chastised, and sexually assaulted. I was called whore, stupid, fat, lazy, good-for-nothing, loser, bitch, and ugly. I was kicked in the ribs, poked, pointed at, shunned, raped, mugged, and slapped. The people who were dishing out the abuse were people I have known from my waking life, but they had all morphed into better looking, more intelligent, and highly confident versions of themselves. A man I met once who was quite ugly and overweight was down to slightly plump with baby-like skin; an old classmate of mine from early high school who was not all that attractive and never went to university had a killer body and was an award-winning physicist; the Fiery One looked just the same but had this god-like aura about him and become quite famous. I spent most of the night being torn apart in every way imaginable by a seemingly endless stream of friends and family past and present. The shrill pulse of my alarm at 6:00 am was such a relief, but I still lied there through two snoozes running the images from my dream through my head, unable to shake them loose.
I am blaming this dream hell I went through on being sick. The cold I thought I was starting to suffer and then recover from last week has burrowed in deep, and it is entirely my fault. When the Fiery One and I went to Cosmopolis last weekend, I spent a good deal of the time abusing myself. Thursday night involved beer, wine, creamsicle shooters, and cigarettes until nearly 5:00 am. Friday was all about overeating, because that is what I do when I go to my parents' house. It's my way of self-medicating myself into a dull, gluttony-induced stupor so that I can deal with their incredible racism and right-wing politics. Saturday involved more over-eating at my parents coupled with another trip out to drink with my old comrades, and because I only get to see them every few months, we ended up closing down the bar. By Sunday afternoon, when I woke up on my friend Batty's couch in dire need of liquids and pain medication, I knew that I had pushed things too far. I told myself that next time I would take more care to act in a manner more in line with remaining healthy and vital, and then I laughed at my promise, because I knew I would never keep it. What would my visits to Cosmopolis be if not excuses to damage my liver and scar my lungs?
Anyway, as a result of this debauchery, the cold I was staving off last week took its window of opportunity this weekend to proliferate within my system, and now my sinuses and lungs are slowly filling with mucus, my throat feels hot, and my spine aches to be relieved of supporting my head and torso. I think the familiar people abusing me last night in my dream were impersonating the real-world raging and lively cold bugs that were kicking the shit out of my immune system (get it, they were breaking down my defences, getting all symbolic on my ass?). When I get home from work it's a hot bath with Burt's Bees Therapeutic Bath Crystals for me (they are not for the faint of heart, as the lemon, rosemary, and eucalyptus globulus oils pack a wallop) and maybe a crime show to lull me while I drink tea on the sofa.

Red and I had a drink together after work yesterday, and it was exactly what I needed at that moment (getting together with Red, not the drink). It was so nice to hang out with an intelligent woman around my age whose life is circumstantially similar to mine. We managed to touch on a lot of major life issues inside of one hour, and I felt a little lighter afterward. Every now and again, I find myself feeling as though I am wandering through life, destitute of compatriots in this demographical country I inhabit. How good to remember in this very self-involved world of mine that I am not the only one! I mean, who do I think I am? The only singly unique human being in the world? Chosen of God? Set down on earth to suffer in a way never perceived by mortal man in order to transcend this physical realm? Nope, and I thank the universe for creating me as just a regular joe among schmucks, because it would really freaking suck to have to be some enlightened demi-god on earth, spiritually progressing a mere handful of humanity while being reviled and brutally maimed or killed by many, and then having huge quantities of people completely misread my teachings after my death and then figure it's their job to bring about the apocalypse or something. Me, I'm pretty happy slowly figuring things out as I go along and not having to worry about all that like any other regular human being. Here's to not being a demi-god!

Okay, you are probably wondering when, after this last long string of entries, I am going to stop going on about feeling isolated and all emotionally unstable. Well, I will stop eventually. It's spring right now, and early to mid-spring is a difficult time for me. This is the point in time every year when I start analyzing every little last thing and talking to myself in public and waffling between feeling an elated hopefulness and a nihilistic melancholy. So. . . on with my little parade of emotional trivialities then. . .

~ DO NOT SCROLL DOWN IF SEXUALLY OBSCENE FRUIT DISTURBS YOU ~

I don't usually post pictures, but I could not resist this one.

Puttin' the fingers to ya


Louveciennes likes me, she really does! (At least she put me on her favourites list).

Here is a short history of Rwanda.

The senior U.S. commander in Iraq has called for 10,000 more troops when just last week the government said that they had enough troops stationed in Iraq already.

The Bushes and the Cheneys make pretty good coin.

Elisha Cuthbert of Popular Mechanics for Kids fame has come a long way. She’s playing a porn star in The Girl Next Door.

Uzbekistan is trying to undermine the international anti-terrorist coalition by attacking specific targets.

If you trudge through the awful writing, you will find something really scary – the weaponized Near Field Infrared Experiment.

China is set to join the Nuclear Suppliers Group in May.

Learn more about South Africa. It’s amazing how little I’ve learned up to this point.

Me In My Little Boat On An Endless Sea Sucking On Hard Tack

Overthinking Makes Girl Hate Cityville Less