A book of flowers

Apparently, I am frustrated. I swear that I'm trying really hard not to be. But still. I noticed it last night as I laid on my bedroom floor and painted abstract florals and a few valentines. My hands had been shaking, but they stopped halfway through, and I noticed my shoulders loosening and a load falling off.
This quarter has been a very difficult one.
In a way, I feel like I'm only making it through because of John Keats and C. S. Lewis and tea. Literally, I make enough tea to share with a table-full of people every morning, and I drink it. All by myself. Because no one (aside from the lovely A) is here and no one has come here.

I miss my family.

I think you should all know, there is a context to this. As I expressed above, this term is a beast. I have yet to find any work. I've been comparing myself far too much again. They cut a bunch of programs at my school. Doubt is my constant companion. And thus far this year — but really, it's only February — I have had four sets of friends get engaged.

I really miss my family.

I was remembering last night, whilst mixing up some pale pink and peach because I don't have those colors of gouache. I remembered that when I was really little, my mom used to wash my hair over the stainless steel sink in our kitchen. Light and suds would spill everywhere, and the water was always just warm enough. Then she would trim my split ends and we would scatter them off the porch in the backyard for the birds to use in their nests. 
I had forgotten about that.

The truth is, I want a family. That has become painfully obvious to me. My heart has been thrumming full of the reasons I chose to go to school in the first place, and honestly? Many of them had to do with my children. How I wanted my children to be able to come to me ask me about the color of Neptune and how to use a microscope and what Shakespeare really meant, and I would have some of those answers for them. I have always wanted that for them.
But a family is not an option right now. That is not on my horizon. As far as I can tell, there's not even any broad shoulders and strong forearms reaching for me yet. Nothing, no one, not at all. I just stand alone in my kitchen and make butter and chocolate cake and read about Christopher Robin and listen to La Traviata on repeat and wonder about what to do after next year.

And so, I miss my family.

I really want to go home. I thought I would before spring break, but now the roads are an utter mess, and there's really no chance of that happening. Now I'll just have to bide my time and paint more small illustrations and prints. Now I will have to be alone for awhile longer.
I am actually learning to appreciate that, being alone. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I am.
There is something sacred and gorgeous about knowing yourself so well from your experiences of solitude and quiet breathing.
I have had many of those as of late. And so many magical memories that have been keeping me awake.

I started a book. It is full of good, lovely things I will do with my daughters and sons. Maybe you will read it someday. Or maybe you will see it.
I have hope for the latter one.

Teeth.

Dear Fleur.
This morning I woke up and wanted muffins and cupcakes and berries. I laid underneath my blankets and buried my face in my pillow. No, I did not want muffins and cupcakes and berries. I wanted Jesus. I wanted to go read my Bible instead of eat breakfast. I wanted to read about Daniel. So I did.
But really I wanted muffins and cupcakes and berries.
Sitting on my bedroom floor with my journal open and my Bible on my lap and Le Petit Prince on my knee, I realized what a privilege it is to eat. To cook. To bake. To stand in the kitchen and be able to make poppyseed muffins. I can't even really explain it. It was like an epiphany of everything good and beautiful that tastes. I missed putting an apron on and baking bread.
I never thought what it would feel like to be someone who can't cook.
It must be hell.
So today I told myself I would make a loaf of bread. In the middle of my fast. Which is totally ridiculous, but Tazza and I have Art History homework to do, so why not make good of our time studying? I remember things better if I'm doing something while I study. "That cathedral was built in the 12th century because I was baking sugar cookies and I remember." It's weird, but it works.

I read the first 2 chapters of Daniel. I chose Daniel because he is one of my favourites. And he fasted too.
Did you know Daniel could interpret dreams? I am pretty much super jealous of him right now. I always wanted to be able to interpret dreams. I didn't want to get thrown in a lion's den, but I always liked dreams. It's kind of amazing that he got out of that. And he couldn't have without God. Which makes it even more amazing. But I'm not even at that part. I'm still at the beginning.

I'll be going to draw pink pictures now and bake bread. I think I'll make cupcakes on the day after the last day. But I won't be able to the eat them.
The Church is fasting 7 days. On the 7th day, I get all 4 of my wisdom teeth pulled out. Isn't that swell?
Love Bella.

Sentemintal Heart.

Right now, I am sitting in Kirsten Bean's kitchen.
WITH HER.
We are looking at donut recipes. And I am so explicitely happy. Not even close to joking. I'm serious. And I've been making cinnamon rolls all day. It's so hard to be serious after that.

I love her.

She's singing Zooey Deschanel. And we are kind of mad. And it's glorious.

I would stay here forever if I could.

i still need a dress.

(via)
dear fleur.
tomorrow is prom night. tandy and my plans for our 'not prom' are coming along nicely. i think iron man 2 is a possibility. and starbucks is now offering happy hour. score. half price drinks in prom dresses? y and e and s.
this is going to be stupendous.
seriously.
i wonder what it would be like to really go to prom.

so i think i will go watch television with my little brother and scour the kitchen for brownie mix now.
xo, bella.

EDIT: did i mention casablanca is pretty much worth staying up early into the morning for? honestly.

ram.

Dear Fleur.
I had a lesson on RAM tonight. It involved me, pasta, the kitchen, and naughty children at one point. No naughty children will be sweeping my cooking tools onto the floor.
THAT'S WHAT I LEARNED.
(And I imagined myself wearing red shoes in the kitchen cooking spaghetti.)

Merci Nat.
I get it now. Sort of. The best I can at least.
RAM = The kitchen counter.
Remember that now.
And don't forget your red shoes people.

Love from Bella.

•

Dear Fleur.
I was kind of mad this morning. I had to go to the doctor's. And she told me that they needed to remove the mole on my back. The thing is, I like the mole on my back.

Before you say anything, let me explain.

(photo via weheartit)

A few months ago I had a dream that I got married. My husband was adorable. And we were so happy. And in my dream it was morning. I was sitting at the table in my kitchen. My hair was a mess. I was drinking coffee from a french press. Eating toast&strawberries for breakfast. Reading Shakespeare. And he came up behind me. Put his arms around me. And then leaned down and kissed the little mole on my back. And whispered in my ear, "I think you're cute." And went to get himself a cup of coffee.

Now you may call me names like "crazy," "ridiculous," and "over-the-top."
I really don't care. I was born romantic.
And I like it.
Just like I like the mole on my back.
Besides, who prefers stitches and biopsies and doctors visits over kisses?
No one.
Love from Bella.