At the Tai Chi studio, bathrooms are shared with an accounting office in the same building.
Yesterday I found out that the keys aren’t labeled “Men” and “Women”, they say Yin and Yang.

At the Tai Chi studio, bathrooms are shared with an accounting office in the same building.
Yesterday I found out that the keys aren’t labeled “Men” and “Women”, they say Yin and Yang.
The thrill is gone
The thrill is gone away
The thrill is gone baby
The thrill is gone away
You know you done me wrong baby
And you’ll be sorry someday
—BB King, The Thrill Is Gone
Our relationship was a nightmare of ups and downs.
You had the amazing ability to make me feel good about myself, by saying the right thing with intelligence and eloquence.
Yet every time I felt like I was making progress, progress that took tremendous effort and energy, progress for you, you would put me down. Every time I took a leap of faith and put myself out there, you would hurt me. It wasn’t even a case of brutal, tactless honesty; you would insult my pride for no reason.
I think it betrayed a subconscious insecurity. Something you would do to make yourself feel better. Like your constant need to prove that you’re busy and moving on. It’s as if your life is empty, void, and you’re desperate to fill it with something.
I had to end things when you went too far.
There were no regrets, because I did my absolute best to make things work. Even though I suffered, I ignored the pain, and tried working through it. I only gave up when you proved too stubborn to change or understand.
The relationship wasn’t a total loss. It was an interesting introduction to the subculture. It was passionately sexual. It also made me more confident, although I realize now that it wasn’t because of you. You barely gave me any trust, and every step forward I made, you pulled me back two. It was me who fought through all the insecurities and rose to the occasion.
When you came back in January, without a word of apology or mention of the wrong you did, I had no interest in continuing the relationship. After that, I thought of you whenever I heard the song Buried Myself Alive by The Used.
Unfortunately, it was at an unstable time in my life, so I asked you to back off and wait. Your idea of backing off and waiting is leaving me creepy comments and dating to fill the time. I just can’t understand how you keep making these mistakes. It’s almost like you purposely sabotage yourself.
I don’t want to be involved in the drama anymore. Nothing is ever simple with you. Even though you say you’ve changed, it’s not worth the risk to me. You had your chance, and it was a damn good one.
You’ve wronged me too many times. The last time you left my house, not knowing when or if you’d come back, I felt nothing.
I knew then that the thrill was gone.
A few other things:
Trolley and Aaron can grow beards as I’ve never been able to. It’s always made me a little envious. I’m not one who can have that gruff, distinguished look.
This comes as a strange phenomenon. While my dad could never really develop a full beard, he could quickly grow an all-over scruff. Scruff like it was made of steel wool. Sometimes he’d have to shave twice a day, and he kept an extra electric shaver in the glove compartment just for this purpose.
Apparently, I didn’t inherit this gene.
I did, however, inherit some sort of mutation that turns certain hairs brown. I always thought it was Scottish heritage on Aaron’s part that gave him the orange highlights in his beard. Now I don’t know what it’s due to.
Unfortunately, I can’t show off this mutation, since I have to shave frequently.
When I don’t shave, my sparse facial hair makes me look like I’m still going through puberty and my balls have yet to drop.
Am I not your favourite gadget, no more?
How come my little baby?
Am I not your favourite gadget, no more now?
How come not anymore?Since you bought me, I feel lonely
Since that day things are wrong
Could you not repair me, honey
Is my warranty guaranteed gone
—Ellen ten Damme, Gadget
There was always something about you.
Your voice. Your Joisey accent. Your hair style. Your always-on choker. Your piercings (I was always a sucker for brow rings and tongue studs). Your taste in music. Your off-the-wall personality.
It was all so exciting. Something I’d never experienced before.
But you were a total drama queen too. You would get upset over the most random, innocuous things. I could never tell if you truly believed the ridiculous things you said, or whether you just said them for attention. Either way, I hated it.
You could also be as immature as a teenager. I hated how you would do things like leave in the middle of a game and storm off to the other room because you thought you would lose.
I put all my feelings aside for you. I would always let you have your way, but you’d never even consider mine, and I hated it.
Even though I knew it wouldn’t last, even though I knew you were completely wrong for me, like poison in the bloodstream, I couldn’t end it. Sometimes I still wonder if you ever think of me, or whether I was just another thing you used to occupy yourself in the summer, between boyfriends.
I’ve written more entries inspired by what happened than by anything else. I don’t want to give our relationship any significance, but the truth is that I can’t deny how important it was. What we had wouldn’t even count as a relationship, if it weren’t for how much it affected me.
My previous relationships were never satisfying. It felt like I could never fall in love or appreciate my girlfriends for who they were, and I always believed it was my fault. Then I fell in love with you, and it helped me learn that the failures of the past weren’t anyone’s fault, and simply the result of incompatibility. If it wasn’t for this realization, the suffering and the heartbreak wouldn’t have been worth it.
You were the only girl to ever break up with me. It was the shortest relationship I’ve had by far, but for some reason, it was the longest for me to get over. My heart tells me you were special, but my head tells me you weren’t special at all.
You were only the one I couldn’t have.
What can I say about Tina?
Fulcrum editor. Dom lover. Farsi speaker. Cadence Weapon listener. Naughty girl dancer.
She’s cool. Certainly cooler than me.
So when she asked if I wanted to meet, it made me nervous. I’m not comfortable around cool people. I never know how to act around them.
Tina has this laugh though, this girly, ebullient-but-not-annoying laugh, that put me at ease. The way she expresses herself betrays a subtle maturity for her age. One of those people who knows what they want and where they’re going. Even with this maturity, she retains a youthful fashionability. She’s four years my junior but I never felt like we lost each other in conversation, something I find especially common when talking to people my age.
On the outside we’re very different. At our core, we have very similar personalities. Maybe this is why we got along so well.
She obliged me a few photos so I could see if I could capture her playful personality.
It’s obvious that she likes cats, and Dolly was no exception. Normally, I take upwards of 200 snaps when I’m doing portraits, but she was too distracted by the cat rolling around on the floor between us for me to get more than 50.
Tina was the first person I’ve met through blogging from the Ottawa area. The next blogger I have to meet is Sikander. I think I saw him with Lunato walking down Rideau once, but I was too shy at the time to introduce myself.