Well, I have been living in my tower for 21 days and all is well. I love my tower. Next time I will try and post some pictures of my room on the toppest top part of my tower. My room is quite quaint. Filled with pictures and a psychadelic duvet cover that is on loan from my brother. I often think of a fairy tale when I walk up those steps. I like to stand on my balcony and think of Rapunzel, except that I haven't much hair and sometimes after a hard day of cleaning toilets and showers I think of Cinderella. Don't ask why...I think that I have become obsessed with the idea, to be frank. It is so wierd how someting so childish has just taken control of my day dreams and has become some kind of unattainable goal demands all of my attention. It's Mother/Daughter camp here at the ranch this weekend and there are plenty of little girls parading around as though they own the place and as though they are the most precious jewel in the world. It really is quite sweet. Really.
It gets my attention. What is it that makes me not believe the same thing? Is it failed relationships? Dashed dreams? Worldly advice? What exactly is it? And somehow I can't even seem to find that answer, let alone the time that I stopped believing that.
It is something so precious to know and believe that you are a princess.
For some reason we have stopped believeing that we are nothing better than what the world expects us to be. We have replaced our riches with rags and haven't noticed. We have put down our crowns and have donned the clothes of the pauper, and all for what? So that someone in this world will notice? So that we could fit in with the popular crowd?
I've done it...in fact I do it just about everyday, I step over my ballgown and glass slippers and put on a raggity old pair of jeans and stained t-shirt. When was the last time that I proclaimed the truth that I am a daughter of the king? When was the last time that you did it?
A friend of mine from high school (here's your plug Simon) wrote this incredibly amazing song that shook me to my core. Here is the chorus:

What if I did? What if I did?
Gave my whole life, let it all fly
Stepped before sight, and lost the whole world
Fell into real life, traded plastic for pearls

So what if I did? What if I traded my cheap plastic costume jewelry for pearls? What would that mean? How then would I live? Cos I'm pretty sure that life would be sweet. What is it that makes all of this so hard? Why do I have such a problem with this ball gown? It fits, it was made just for me. Hand tailored by the same man that paints the sunsets and waters the stars.
Now that I think on it, I don't think that it is the ballgown at all that bothers me, it is the ever-shrinking box in which I allow myself to dream that is the problem. And I don't want to live in this box anymore. I want the pearls more than my mind is ashamed to admit to that fact. I want to pull out that ballgown and show it off. I'm tired of hiding what I have and I'm frustrated with knowing all the right steps and choosing to be a wallflower. I want to dance out loud and, most importantly I want to be held in powerful and safe arms of my deepest love.
So come on girls, lets do it. But not just for one night- lets do it forever. Lets be the princesses we were meant to be. Lets put on those pearls and parade them around...I know that i want to....