Happy.

Dear Fleur.
I got the Anthropologie catalog yesterday and had a short relapse. I am a sucker for sweaters. I'm good now though. I'm over it. Sort of. Winter is the hardest I think.
I am going to write a memoir on this year, just so everyone knows.

I am uncommonly happy.

I keep saying that I am uncommonly happy because I am. It feels really good. Other than my failing moments in Project Clothesless, so many good things are happening.
And except for books. All the books I've been reading are super sad and depressing. In church, I even read Hosea because my Pastor commented on it in his sermon. And The Catcher in The Rye? Just kill me now.

Today I have to work on Christmas presents again. I was embroidering last night while catching up on the "Love Comes Softly" series. Also, Norway is difficult to draw. But I should do some sewing. And more drawing.
All my pens are out of ink.

I think I am going to search for my fabric, read my Whitman, and steal all Mandy's ink pens. O. And tonight I babysit. Thirteen kids. It's one of my favorite things to do right now. I will not be bringing my sketch pad with me though.

I am so dang happy.
Love, Bella.