None of us likes denial.  And though it’s something I’ve despised about myself, I’ve been ripe with it for as long as I can remember.  And it’s not just denial about myself, but it’s also the denial that I dish out to others.  Pushing and shoving, I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life completely content in doing it all on my own.

But we grow through these things.  In time even the hardest of us comes to terms with our weaknesses, and all of a sudden we’re heading in a different direction.  10 years ago I would have never guessed that I’d be in business school, that I’d be living in Vancouver, or that I’d be slowly taking out my piercings and chopping my hair shorter and shorter.

Even the little wrinkles that have found their homes beside my eyes are surprise visitors to my visage.

So I shouldn’t be surprised to be struggling.  I shouldn’t be shocked that there are those amongst me–wandering the streets and the gay bars–that are also fighting with denial and struggle.

Dating in this city has become a tug-of-war, a fight between one side and the other.

Surprise results to seemingly amazing experiences.  Over and over, nights that seem to break the mold, all end up stale.  Moreover nights that seem exciting and hopeful, turn into empty phone calls and emails.

Perhaps I truly have entered my Saturn return.  Perhaps all the cells in my body are becoming geriatric; all of them in diapers and walkers.  Every last one of my cells is ready to end their 7 year journey and make way for the next round.  Pheromones have began to shift and alter themselves on my neck and in my wrists, and everything I’m transmitting to those around me is confusing and misleading.

Perhaps, I’m just waiting for my head and heart to catch up to all the cells that are race, race, racing away.