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.

#331: THINGS THAT MAKE THE BIG DARK LESS BIG

Little things that make me realize all may not be lost (at least as far as I am able to recognize spots of light in the midst of the Big Dark):

  • I got a new office chair. Actually, it belonged to one of my co-workers, but she got a new one, and my old one sucked more than her old one. The point is, it's new to me, it fits my ass like a loving hand, and it doesn't have old food rubbed into the material on the sides of the seat. Also, it's burgundy, which rocks far harder than office navy blue.
  • Image hosted by Photobucket.comI ate Skor bar chocolate cake for breakfast, and it made me feel deliciously sick. I say "deliciously", because it's the kind of sick that is the satisfying reminder of unusual decadence. My teeth probably look horrendous, though.
  • Speaking of food that makes a mess of things, I made oven roasted beets tossed in a red wine vinagrette last night, and they were lovely. I love beets. With their high potassium level, they're the bananas of the vegetable world.
  • I just stuck my own thumb in my own eye. What was my thumb doing there? Apparently, I have very bad hand-eye coordination (ba-dum bum). A little silliness can go a long way.
  • Mr. Saucy, the Fiery One's younger brother, gave us a bag of coffee beans when he came to visit. I love this coffee. My true love is, of course, going through the process of grinding them down in our newish coffee grinder, because that appeals to the kitchen-gadgetry-as-toys part of me (I'm five, don't you know), but this coffee runs a close second. Also, when I got out of the shower this morning, the Fiery One was already up and had made a pot of the stuff. Coffee beans plus grinding plus thoughtfulness makes for warm fuzzies.
  • The woman whose job I was covering for the last couple of weeks just had a bouquet of sweet peas from her garden sent over to me. The seven-coloured bunch of soft petals is sitting to my left and smelling so sweetly. I know, I know. I've stated before how much I hate flowers and that they smell of death and yada yada, but I contradict myself on a regular basis, so you get what you get. I am loving this particular clump of sweet peas. So there.
  • Yesterday, some co-workers and I were talking about poignant smell/memory connections that we had, and the conversation made me recall the smell of the cool, damp cement stairs that led from our back yard down into the basement in the house I lived in when I was little. It smelled earthy and fresh and a little like rain. Before I knew otherwise, I believed that that was the smell of shade.
  • The shock of what eating a lot of beets can do to your poop and then realizing that you are not dying from a massive internal hemorrage: priceless.
  • And while I am on the bathroom topic..... After I washed my hands, I decided to try out the freesia-scented hand lotion that someone had put by the sink. The pop-top was gummed up with old cream, so I squeezed the bottle to dislodge it, and purple hand lotion spurted forth in huge globs, spraying the opposing wall, me, and the area around the sink. Now I wreak like old-lady perfume and my co-workers have been holding their noses and laughing at me. I brought a little joy into other people's days.
  • I have scheduled Mondays off until mid-September, so I am looking forward to a three-day weekend starting in T minus four hours, and I get to look forward to feeling like this at this time every Friday until the middle of next month.
  • I have been writing more poetry. I wish I were writing it more often and actually attempting to publish it, but for now, I am happy to report volume. Greatness is achieved in small steps.
  • Saviabella just reminded me that I now live in a fabulous new apartment rather than the craptacular old apartment. This fact alone should be enough to keep me out of the Big Dark.



    "It's Dark in Here" by Shel Silverstein

  • Fuck It