The Banzai Chronicles

Cup of chamomille tea on a saucer to my right. Slice of toast with raspberry jam on a plate to my left. My friends list is on a screen to my right; my favorite episode of Deep Space Nine plays in front of me; and I write this entry in Phoenix on a screen to my left. It is a good way to end the day, though I can think of better.

The teacup's smooth warmth feels good as I cup both of my hands around it, bringing it slowly to my face. There's little to write, I know, but I continue for the same reason that I raise the cup the way I do: it feels good and right.

Knot in my left calf, I noticed as I rose. Not sure where it came from or how long it'll be around. But that's life, really, isn't it? We think and plan and worry, but mostly, things come and go without defined origins or certain durations. Not for us, anyway.

Need to wash my face. I especially notice this on warm days, and the days have indeed been warm. That's not my favorite– I miss the cool and the rain. Seasons have a purpose, however, and my preferences quickly vanish when I see the Olympics and the Sound each morning. That beauty is more than enough. So perhaps I need the season I might not choose, one that reminds me of His glory as well as my need to be made clean.

Thoughts are scattered, and the clearest among them cannot be written here. It's late and I've finished my tea. This will have to do.