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.

A Mushy Brain Makes For Bad Lists

My brain is not functioning all that fabulously this morning. It's doing its best, but its best is proving to be inadequate.

You see, the Fiery One and I had quite a decadent little weekend, one that quite hurt my soft little brain. Without a budgetary thought in our heads, we drank beer and ate sushi with the abandon with which people much wealthier than ourselves must drink beer and eat sushi. I can tell you that the rich probably have fantastic weekends and slowly lowering IQ levels (see Ms. Hilton).

On top of the excessive beer consumption, there was an awful lot of cigarette smoking. When I wasn't killing off chunks of my grey matter with alcohol, I was asphyxiating said chunks with high levels of carbon monoxide. I'm not sure what all this revelry was about. Perhaps it is that the Fiery One is leaving tomorrow for a three-week jaunt through the Philippines and Australia. I am starting to recognize a pattern of rising spendthriftness and debauchery before each of his work trips is about to begin. I think we panic in the face of the impending separation and follow the sage words of Omar Kayyam: "'While you live / Drink!…'"

Back to my poor be-numbed brain tissue… I have little to offer you today. Perhaps a list. Yes, a list always saves the day, at least in some small way:

  • I am the laziest of the lazy when it comes to doing laundry, and so I was only able to scrounge up one pair of clean underwear this morning. At first, this led me to think seriously about what I can wear tomorrow that I can go commando in, but it didn't take long for me to learn that I should have considered going commando this morning. Right now, this underwear is residing stubbornly in between my butt cheeks. It is not meant to be a thong, and the day I bought them, they fit like a dream, covering each cheek as though they had been form-fitted just for me. Truth be told, I was very excited to find underwear that fit me so well. One washing later, and they have forgotten their original intention, which was to be full cheek coverage underwear. It's machine washer induced underwear amnesia. I can only hope that they wander away somewhere and can't find their way home, because I never seem to be able to bring myself to throw away even the worst of my underwear collection.
  • Today is DAY ONE. I'm not going to tell you what it is the first day of, because it's a secret. Even the Fiery One doesn't know. I haven't even told him that it's Day One of something I won't tell him about yet. Wonder why I bothered to tell you that I wasn't going to tell you about something? It's because I'm mean-spirited, that's why.
  • I have Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" stuck in my head. At least it is not all sing-songy and poppy like the usual ones that volley around in my brain.
  • I spent a good portion of my weekend designing a web page for somebody, and I like all her suggestions for changes, so I'm probably going to spend silly amounts of time after the Fiery One leaves punching up the design a bit. I can be incredibly obsessive and a perfectionist, so it rocks having an outlet for these tendencies. The Somebody in question deserves many thanks for delivering such great feedback, and the Fiery One rocks simply because he is ever so patient with me when I can't pry my eyes away from Photoshop when he's trying to make out with me.
  • My V8 tastes like ketchup. I'm not crazy about this, because I don't like ketchup but am normally quite fond of my V8. My minor sense of defeat may be a little extreme for the situation, but I can be a very sensitive person at times.


    My day has taken a turn for the worse, and so it is time for a second list (only this one will actually have a common theme amongst its points):

  • The air conditioning is cranked way up in the office, so I am freaking freezing, and I forgot to bring a decent sweater. I would love to turn up the thermostat I was so happy about a couple of entries ago, but apparently if I do that the rest of the building will be pitched into an Antarctic frigidity, because the heat registered by my thermostat will tell the air conditioner to kick into overdrive. I am goose-pimply up both my arms, for Christ's sake!
  • Everyone in the office has these identical little space heaters for just such chilly occasions. Right now, they are all happily warming themselves while they do whatever they do, but I am not. Why? Because my space heater, and my space heater alone, makes a clackity racket and produces the distinct smell of burning human flesh. No one wants to trade with the new girl as much as I tried to play up the benefits of the clackity racket as far as keeping one alert on the job goes. I drink lots of coffee, so the racket doesn't help me any.
  • The internet is down, and so I can't listen to my radio. (Go to Last.Fm and look up "schmutzie_pickles". I'm still building up my playlist, but there's enough to listen to). It's extra quiet around here, because it's summer and half the staff is on vacation, so this lack of music thing means that all I have to listen to is the hum of the air conditioning, which is of little comfort to me.
  • I have to pee. This is a new job, and I tend to pee a lot, at least more than the average person, and I feel very conspicuous running out of the office to go to the bathroom so often. I'm paranoid that rumours will start about my being knocked up or something. It's happened before.


    Nicholas Cage just married a 19-year-old.

    They're taking the hybrid car a step further.

    Fay Wray has died at the age of 96.

  • I May Feel Invisible Today, But It's Not All Bad

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