Ok. I goofed. Not every day. Between working absurd hours and hosting a guest this weekend, it just didn’t happen. The fault lies entirely with me. Ah well. We beat on, boats against the current.

Played hostess this weekend to a dear friend who is a professional photographer. At her request, I modeled for a shoot she wanted to do, involving manipulation of light. It was very cool, and modeling is actually really hard! I’m not good at it – my faces would not please Tyra – but had a blast anyway. A little taste of feeling gorgeous.

My friend posted the pics to Facebook today, and many kind compliments followed suit. The photos are great. I wish I felt the way people say I looked. I wish I enjoyed my looks more. Because I guess they’re pretty good. Where does the line between humility and low self-esteem blur? I wish I knew. I know confidence is sexy, and I’m trying to embody that more and more, but I haven’t had a lot of moments to back it up. I’m shy. And according to David Foster Wallace:

“I think being shy basically means self-absorbed to the point that it makes it difficult to be around other people. For instance, if I’m hanging out with you, I can’t even tell whether I like you or not because I’m too worried about whether you like me.”

That’s almost worrisome, because it rings so true.  I’m waiting by the phone – doing other stuff, slightly irked that Glee isn’t on, but waiting nonetheless – to see if this guy wants to see me again. And I really hope he does. Because I like him very much, and am trying to keep a respectful, relaxed vibe going between us. Dating as a shy person is super hard.

Revisiting Facebook – the catalyst of most drama in the modern age – I saw a status posted by a girl I did study abroad with….essentially that you really must love yourself before you can even understand how to love someone else. So I scroll back a page and look at my model shots. They’re not perfect. They’re not expected to be. They must simply be enough. For me.