I woke up this morning, picked up my fleece from off the chair and exposed a rather unwelcome visitor. A scorpion. I spent the next hour inspecting my clothing and shoes and tearing apart the bed, an all too vivid flashback to my childhood.
Desert insects give me the heebie jeebies. I would much rather be in bear and mountain lion territory. Okay, “much rather” may be an overstatement, I’d gladly live without any of it, but at least bears and mountain lions can’t make their way inside your home (or your bed) without you knowing it. I grew up in the desert, I’ve had a centipede in my bed, I don’t ever want to experience that again. Ever.
So now I’m left to wonder, do scorpions live here on the mesa where our property is? Or, did we bring him with us from Utah or Arizona? I hate that I’ll never know. I hate even more that he was a tiny little baby scorpion that may have brothers and sisters somewhere. I hate that I’m such a wuss and can hardly stand writing about the fact that there was a scorpion mere inches from my bed yesterday morning.