*~*

My boss is playing hooky today, the lucky bastard. I want to play hooky too, but I suspect that if I did leave, I would only go shopping for shoes, so what�s the point. This is a day you really need to spend outside. But I really need cute sandals. Summer's coming, you know.

*~*

I've already missed the time of year when I usually talk about the Crocus Lawn, but the sad news is that the Crocus Lawn is gone. Sometime last summer, the people who own the house in front of which the Crocus Lawn grew had some work done on their house, work that involved excavation of their front lawn. They must have dug up all of the little sleeping crocus bulbs. While I do not begrudge anyone work on their house, it's quite sad that the Crocus Lawn is gone. And even sadder than in a year or two, I will probably have forgotten that it even existed.

*~*

Like many, I am praying for Terri Schiavo. Unlike many, I am praying that she dies before her family can find any more technical loophole reasons to force the courts to keep her alive. That may sound cruel, but my prayers go something like, this: "God, please set her free." I know her parents don't see it this way, but they're fooling themselves that she's anything but a prisoner in that body. Bless their hearts for loving her so fiercely and wanting her back so badly, but she's gone. It's time to set her free, and I pray that it happens soon.

What gets me is that I've read that they're Catholic, and yet they are trying to "save" her from the awful fate of� being in Heaven with God. I don't understand this kind of Catholicism.

*~*

There's actually a lot I don�t understand right now about religion and faith, and it appears I am not alone. Apparently, it's common for people my age to start re-evaluating their spiritual and/or religious beliefs.[1] I've been doing so for a little over a year, inspired in part by all of the churchyness involved with getting married, and also by moving and needing to find a new Methy church to go to with my honey. We church-hop. Some weeks my church, some weeks his. Some weeks, we go out for pancakes.

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[1] an almost direct quote from� erm�. Someone who appears not to have a diary anymore.