I was sitting here at my deak preparing for class and happened to notice, more than the page it was resting on, my hand. It reminded me of an alligator purse. I seriously can't believe how scaly and old it looks. I never thought I'd look old.
Then I noticed the page it was resting on. Seriously, it happened to be a poem about the challenges of faith. How we run to God only because he is our last resort for comfort, not because He is good or reliable.
So I decided to focus on my left hand, holding a glass of sweet iced tea. And my chair is comfortable, and the daylight is soft and abundant coming in the window. And Ben Folds, my fave, is singing on my Pandora station.
So I reach in the drawer for some verbena lotion and apply it to my scaly hand. It doesn't look any better really, only slightly shinier. Oh well. I still like how it smells.