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.

Unplugging the Cork

Shanan at Atlantis 7

Listen to Daniel Johnston's "Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Your Grievances":


I sat in the bathtub for a long time today. I did it for a long time yesterday, too.

I don't know what to do with my hands. I build a website. I do the laundry. I pet a cat. I crochet a scarf. I take a photo. My hands are moving, moving, moving, but it doesn't feel like they are doing anything.

This is going to sound more desperate or more sad than I intend.

I haven't been writing much, and when I do, my heart isn't there. I want it to be, and I have a lot of words in my brain, but I am disconnected from heart to head, from head to hands.

This is February. I know it is coming every year, and every year it lands in my lap, at once heavy and so light it might not even be there, and I am surprised at how much it feels like I can't touch anything, not really, how much it seems like all of life travels through this hollow tube.

I wasn't going to write about this. I wasn't going to tell anyone about it. I was just going to keep on keepin' on until March or April or May or whenever the hell this gets better and the words came back to me, but it hurts worse to sit here wordless, so I am letting this out in the hope that it unplugs the cork. That works sometimes.

I have been doing that thing where I compare my baseless woe to everyone's woes that have perfectly firm bases. That person has cancer, that person is getting divorced, that person has to put down their dog. It is as though part of me thinks I won't hurt anymore if I knock the hurt down in size relative to objectively greater pains.

I am one person. I only have one set of eyes, and they only look out of this one head, and it is February, and I am having the thirty-sixth terrible February in a row out of my thirty-nine years. Fuck objectivity.

There. I'm uncorked.

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