Warning: Stream of Consciousness Post. Randomness to Follow.

Hello from my sun room. My left arm is numb, and my left foot is falling asleep. Last night a fire scorched my throat and forehead; I think something is wrong with me. It is possible that I am just tired, and my arm is sore from working out intensely and carrying around several large mixing bowls plus a purse at Ross today. Yes, I am sure that is it. I did inherit my mother's hypochondriac tendencies, though.

However, like today, the day before yesterday, and yesterday, anxiety with all its unsavory fibers occasionally throws a lasso around my thoughts. God says not to worry, but I am me and He is God, so He's a lot bigger, more powerful, and smarter.

Let me tell you about the desert. It is not a place forsaken by God. It is desolate. Was not Jesus led into the desert once? I'm sure He noticed its colors, its sounds, its dry air, its sand and its wind that all funnel together into a different kind of beauty-- the kind that is dangerous and misleading-- maybe like a woman. The sands of the desert succumb to the wind; the wind creates zigs and zags and dunes from the tiniest grains of earth.

I am sitting on my sun room couch thinking about all of these things. I have more feeling in my left arm, and I shifted my weight off of my left foot so it has feeling once again. My dog Jill is perched watching the rabbits munch on grass out the window. Somebody on the news is droning about the oil spill. I am tired from planning classes and socializing. I am 51 percent introverted. Maybe I belong in the desert after all . . . it's quiet there, and I only have to talk such ominous creatures like the rattle snakes and ravens.

I am sorry if you find this blog entry strange, but I am learning not to care so much about what people say or think. It doesn't matter, anyways, does it?