"Just Do Something."

Dear Fleur.
I thought I had it all figured out. You know? Move to Bend and get my own closet and live with Miriam and learn French and go to school and eat good food.
But.
There is always but.
Now I don't know if that's going to happen.
I really want it to happen. I adore Miriam. I like her. And just the thought of being together and working and driving and being grown-ups makes me feel really good inside. Like it's right. Like I should do it.
But.
I don't know if it's going to happen.
And.
There is a back-up plan now.
It's crazy. Even crazier than just going to Bend. Even crazier than Ria moving 3 hours away. And I can't wrap my mind around it.
It has Kirsten and sewing and waitressing and a girl I don't know and there's that one guy who is pretty much Marcus's twin that just made me want to stay forever for some reason.
I like it here.
I'm happy here.
I would have a closet here.

I go home in 2 days.

I miss my family.
Love Bella.

I think there is an imaginary handprint on the left side of my face. And I think I like it.

We are supposed to go to the Goodwill today. And maybe an antique store. And I think there has been talk of more food. But we are always talking of food.
For breakfast we had leftover donuts(from our party last night) and lattes.
Yes.
We had a donut party last night.
And I am actually kind of going crazy here. I'm reading Kirsten's book, "Just Do Something." It's sort of like someone slapped me on the back of my head and said, make a decision already! So I'm going to. And it's exciting. And scary. And involves my own donut parties and my own closet.

And now she's playing the piano and Stephanie is brushing her teeth in the kitchen.

I like this house.

The kitten on the sidewalk.

Dear Fleur.
I was thinking about Moses. And how one day he just ended up talking to this bush. A burning bush.
Can you imagine the way he felt?
If it was me, I would have thought I was crazy. Honestly? There is no way I can even grasp the concept. A bush. A flaming bush. A flaming bush talking to a guy. Insane. Literally. My mind doesn't wrap around it.
Then I thought about how crazy every person in the Bible was. Really. They did things people told them not to. They disregarded themselves, their reputations, their sanity. All for God. And it might not have been easy for them, but then I figured out why it seems easy.
God talked to them.
Never a day in my life has God audibly spoken to me. And sometimes it makes me mad. When other people tell me they hear him, or have heard him. I feel like screaming. And I have once or twice. I was furious.
Why not me too?
For a long time, I felt left out of some secret blessing only bestowed upon the "really" good saints. Tonight I realized how stupid that is. Secret blessings. Better Christians.
Ridiculous.
That's ridiculous.

We drove home from youth group tonight and Franny saw a "kitten" out the car window. She started screaming for my older sister to turn around and go back and save the kitten.
It was a sock, I told her.
A kitten, she screamed.
I am not going back for a sock, my older sister said.
A kitten, she screamed again.
If it was a kitten it was probably a feral cat with rabies, I said.
A kitten, she screamed so loud.
My head hurt.
I am not going back so you can get rabies, my older sister said.
My little sister screamed all the way home.

Maybe that's what it's like in my head with God. He tries to tell me something, but I'm not listening. Maybe I really am trying to do only what I want. I don't just want to do what I want. But maybe that's the way it is.
There is something I know I need to do. But getting there is hard. And I think I might be crazy. Because I know I didn't audibly hear God tell me to do it. But I know I'm supposed to do it.
Kind of like something else I did a few days ago.

I think God talks to me in dreams instead of out loud. And I also think being a Christian means you must be completely mad and probably have to give up a lot of things you really like.
We need to go buy sugar. I want to make donuts and we don't have any sugar.
Love Bella.

#4. Edison.

(via?)

Dear Fleur.

I am going to let you all in on something.
Emily Dickinson was normal.
Oh yes, I just said she was. Face.
(For those of you who don't know anything about Emily, go ahead and read this very informative Wikiarticle.)
A lot of people think she was crazy. And maybe she did lock herself in her room. Maybe she did wear a lot of white. Maybe she did communicate mostly with handwritten letters.
But.
Have you ever read the things she wrote?
Honestly.

I can remember the first thing I ever read of Emily's.

"Hope is a thing with feathers,
That perches in the soul..."

It was then that I knew this woman had it. She knew something I didn't. And I wanted it. So I read everything I could that she'd ever written. Letters. Poems. Stories. They filled my heart. I fell in love with her.
Then I read about her.
The things people said. "Crazy...insane...epileptic...invalid...sickly...unwell...unhappy..." So many disgusting and unjust words. They didn't describe my Emily Dickinson. They had to be talking about a different woman. Someone else. They had to be wrong.

I think people judge when they don't understand.

With all my entire soul&heart, I think Emily was in love. But she couldn't have that man. He wouldn't have her. Or maybe he did. Maybe there's a whole other story we don't know.

People are afraid of beautiful things because they fall apart so easily.

Emily Dickinson was gorgeous.
Her life was incredible. I wish I could live the way she did. She may have been behind walls and never seen people's faces. but she wrote beautiful things. She lived in paper.
I WANT TO DO THAT.

Live in my work.

Some people think I'm crazy. I have actually been told that. And maybe my hair is always mess. Maybe I do eat breakfast while sitting on the kitchen floor. Maybe I do talk to myself as I write.
But.
I like it.
And if you ever see me sitting in my front yard in a reupholstered chair writing letters to C.S.Lewis(I will do this one day), then know that I am happy.
Maybe completely mad.
But happy.
Because chances are, I'll be in love too. And it might not work out. I might rip up 100 magazines and use 38 gluesticks and write 71 stories for him, but he might not want me.
But it'll be fine.
Because Emily Dickinson's love poems will be on my knee.

Love. Bells.

dear fleur.
i flat ironed my hair yesterday.
this morning i had oatmeal for breakfast.
last night i dreamed that some boy i didn't know bought me a kindle for no reason at all.
today is varsity track&field districts.
i want to wallpaper my bedroom.

(via)
selfish, i know. because my room is painted all nice and everything. it's bright and sweet and calming. it reminds me of honey on toast.
but i want wallpaper.
there is just something about waking up in a bedroom and seeing a darling print staring at you. it's like being loved every morning of your life. or that's what i think it would be like. and the names are delightfullllll.

vesta damask. portobello. manor house by laurence. sophia by monsoon. desire. taylor&wood-frames by british.

they're incredible. and the last one, the frames, now whoever made that was a genius. that is the one i want.
i secretly have this idea in my head that when i get my own house, i will fill a whole wall with frames. and a thousand pictures.
now i'm going to buy this wallpaper too. one wall real frames. the others wallpaper frames.
ah.
i'm so excited.

but maybe i'm just crazy.

now i'm off to go search for some orange juice. i would really love some. but i'm not sure if the freezer's hiding any.
and i'll work on that story i started last night. it doesn't make any sense. and it's not supposed to.
niceeeeee.
love, bella.

POST SCRIPT:
all wallpaper compliments of graham&brown/UK. love them.