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Location: Work.
Listening: "Let's Go Back To Church" [sic] by A3.

My alarm clock has no honor.

I informed Peter of this at 6:30 this morning, when the blasted thing went off inexplicably. He laughed and described a possible SNL skit involving Mr. Worf, the Klingon from Next Generation having problems waking in the morning. I made my customary grunting sounds and tried to root further down into the covers.

So here I sit, putting together the prospective call log for my day, drinking water, feeling slightly papery but otherwise fine. I've realized that I don't cough as much when I've been drinking--a sign that my cough is likely a result of allergies combined with anxiety tightening my chest. For someone who's been convinced of late that she's dying of some dread illness, this is useful knowledge.

Finished reading Peter's entry and am moved to comment on two things he mentioned:

1. It is apparently best for me not to base any decisions or perceptions on anything Peter says while in a horizontal position with his eyes closed. I present as evidence to support this the broad discrepancies between the conversation we had yesterday about calling the friends in LA and the conversation he thought we had (an issue that was ironed out, as he described, over the course of an hour or so) and also the fact that I had no idea that he was not feeling well until he asked me to bring back something non-acidic from 7-11. He apparently remembers telling me that his stomach was irritated. In actuality, he rolled me over, laughed, half-mumbled something unintelligible, and then drifted back to sleep. Mind you, this is not meant as a criticism--merely as an observation of the differences between what he remembers when he's in half-waking states and what transpires from my perspective. Something I'm going to have to keep in mind in the future.

2. I miss religion. Rather, I miss the trappings of religion--the religion I was raised with was a little hard to swallow more often than not (especially the part about my being inherently unworthy because I'm female). I've come to realize that I have a deep attachment to churches--and I haven't set foot in one to actually attend a service since Christmas of '99 (when I attended my ex's Episcopal service in Houston and watched George Bush Sr. and Barbara take communion). The church I attended on Sunday's while growing up was massive, as previously mentioned, but the chapel at the Episcopal school I attended was beautiful, with grey slate floors, dark wood pews, runners and altar clothes that had been handstitched by members of the congregation, etc. I attended an abbreviated mass in this chapel every weekday morning from first to sixth grade, then attended my SBC church for several hours every Sunday morning. As a result, religion was a major part of my childhood. This changed when I left for college at 17. While I still maintained a significant faith in what I perceived to be Christianity, I never attended church in Los Angeles--largely because I lacked transportation and many of the churches in the neighborhood surrounding USC were either Catholic or charismatic Seventh-Day Adventist (no kidding). There was a "Congregational" church on campus, which, from several reports, leaned Unitarian-wards in an attempt to attract a diversity of students--this never really appealed. So for my four years at 'SC, the closest I came to religion was occasionally walking home past the Convent of the Sisters of St. Michael.

My conversation with Peter over lunch yesterday and my discovery of his dismay that I have not been baptized (made today while reading his journal) have given rise to a desire to go back to church. I have no idea where I would go--there are several Catholic and one or two Episcopal churches in the neighborhood--I will likely wait until we get to wherever it is we might be going and then see what there is available there.

I find that I've been longing for pieces of my childhood lately--something very unusual in me. I'm not sure what this longing is rooted in--psychiatrists on NPR tell me that it's a yearning for security in the wake of the September 11 attacks--and there might be something to that. Yet, I feel that that explanation is a little too trite. I don't know. I find myself wanting many of the things that I had as a child--a house rather than an apartment, a church of some sort, a community, seasons, woods--God, I miss woods, and early mornings that aren't filled with the sounds of my neighbors' kids screaming in the courtyard.