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.

Some Days Lately

Some Days Lately

When I left the house this morning, nature's smaller bits winnowed their way up my nose and left me crying all the way to work. Allergies are a bitch. I daubed at my eyes with my blue scarf until the corner of my left eye started to feel raw.

noir sky

I thought about how I had found a purple mark on the bottom of my foot when I dusted it off before putting on my socks. It seemed to hover just below the surface of my skin. It didn't hurt when I poked it, so it probably wasn't a bruise.

It's cancer, I thought.

I think everything is cancer. Once you've had it, it never goes away. I find a spot on myself that is suddenly out of the ordinary, I watch it for a while, and when it doesn't change, I move on. Right now, I'm worrying about amputation and how it might be to live without my right foot.

the neighbourhood

When I was nearly at work, I saw a crazy woman coming toward me. You could see how long she'd been crazy by the six inches of wirey, white roots followed by two feet of dyed red-brown hair. Six months to a year, maybe.

My eyes were spilling tears as though they could wash the world out of them, and when I pulled my scarf back up to wipe them away, the woman looked me in the one eye I had open.

"Don't cry," she said. "Your looking really good today."

She threw in a little skip as she passed. It made me smile.

the neighbourhood

Things really are that simple, sometimes, lately. Maybe it's because they have to be as I navigate my way through time and space without the ease afforded by alcohol. Some days I eat breakfast, I iron my shirts, I sell shoes, I take photographs. I keep things simple. I do things without thinking, without investing them with anything deeper than what they are. I am moving. I am eating. I am attending to business.

On those days, it is tidy, like living in a magazine picture that describes mid-century American life in a mid-century American magazine.

hair stuff at Shoppers

After work, I bought things we needed for the house, hair conditioner and wood glue and hashbrowns. A young woman, late teens or early twenties, pointed me out to her boyfriend from the lawn where they sat as I walked home with my bags. She had the courage not to look away when I looked back at her.

I imagined that it was because she liked the way I was dressed, that she wouldn't mind being me in fifteen years.

Grace in Small Things: Sunday Edition #35

Five Star Friday's 122nd Edition Is Brought to You By Sylvia Plath