I framed a photo of mine tonight in a very, very nice frame for someone, and had a bit of a “wow” moment. The photo does not look out of place. I’ve always bought the cheapie frames for my work, but I think I’ve crossed that threshold where I think it really does deserve better than that.
It’s nice to feel that way about my work, and I’m feeling that way about myself these days, too. We’re getting there, me and my photos.
Someone, in their rather blunt manner, asked in a comment “Didn’t you used to write about sex?” Yeah, and I used to have it, too. Funny how these things run together, isn’t it?
I’ve been in all the wrong headspaces of late and I’ve not been ready to jump back into the dating world, and for whatever reason, I’ve not wanted to hazard too many pokes at why that is. And I’ve had very little libido of late, probably because I’ve not wanted it. (But it’s been rearing its head of late.)
I promised myself that I’d give myself to Christmas to kind of just get things in order, and then starting January the plan was to start actively pursuing things again. I don’t know if I want to date someone steadily, but I bet if the right fella came wandering past, I’d be able to take that gamble.
So, soon. I’m going to take some chances and meet new people come January. It’ll happen pretty quick. Always does. :)
Riding home on the bus yesterday I sat facing head-on to a guy seated with his side facing my front. Across the aisle was a girl he locked onto with a vengeance. With his eyes, that is. Just a hungry, hungry, hungry stare.
I guess she noticed, because all of a sudden it was like the air hissed right out of him. Soft, sad, lonely, and rejected yet again… in the blink of an eye.
His eyes became sunken and morose and his lips pursed into a frown. He was in his late 50s, maybe his 60s, plump and haggard, wearing way-worn hightops, cruddy old misshapen sweatpants, and a dull, crumpled old winter coat. His brows were overgrown like Mark Twain’s, and he was missing a canine tooth. His cheeks sagged and bounced with the bus’s bumps.
And without a beat I found myself imagining what a sad and lonely, repetitive life this guy probably has, and I felt overwhelmed with sympathy for him. He just oozed loneliness. It was palpable. He got off at the next stop and I found myself thinking and wondering about him.
I guess it’s just a reminder to be nice to people these days… we never know how much others might miss contact with the world, and if being nice to them for thirty seconds of your life makes their day somehow mean more, I think it’s a pretty small price to pay for literally, actually making the world a better place. One lonely soul at a time. Sometimes a “how are you” means more than you’ll ever know.
I read an interesting study in the Washington Post the other day about self-esteem. People with negative self-esteem apparently responded better to spouses or partners when confronted with negative criticism than they would if given positive feedback.
Of course, it’s infinitely more complex than that and is a little too much for me to bite off here, so I’m just going to share the link with you. But it goes to show you that if you think you’re fuct because you can’t accept a compliments, you’re actually in the majority. Here ya go. Feed your brain with this tasy article right here.