Temper Some times you can’t win. It doesn’t matter what you do. It doesn’t matter what you try. You are fucked before you start. I’ve always hated loosing. Probably always will. I don’t react well to loosing. Probably never will. And I have a bad temper. I blow up so easily sometimes. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop myself. Last Saturday I was at the Eaton Centre, heading down to the Apple Store. I needed a new Lightning Connector for my iPad. Some asshole is trying to bogey on the escalator. He’s got ear buds shoved into his ears so far that they’re probably coming out the other side of his head, and that volume so high that he can’t hear a damned thing. So I lost it. Shoved him. He went over the edge, and landed head first on the floor below. I froze. Then I ran like hell down the escalator, and out onto Queen Street. I ran west to Bay, ducked around the corner, slowed to a walk, took of my hat, shoving it into my pocket, and pretended nothing had happened. I can’t get him out of my mind. Every night I see him. Every night. I can’t sleep. What am I going to do?