My head is swimming and cannot find the life preserver.

I forget sometimes what exactly it is that I hold on to. I hate the times when I can't see it, because I have such a hard time remembering where I left it, and that's probably because I can't recall what "it" is.

I left the house this morning at 8:15. I walked the sixty yards or so to the entrance of the law school building and went in. I did not come back out until 10:05 tonight.

I'm beginning to hate that building. And yet I know that in about four months, my eyes will fill with tears at the realization that I will never again walk its halls as a student.

My cross fell off last week. The chain broke; no big deal. It was a cheap chain, came with the cross, which was all of $22, the silver celtic cross my mother bought me in Annapolis last August.

It fell off, which gave me occasion to handle it. I know that I finger it absent-mindedly from time to time when it is around my neck. I know this because I found myself doing it during my Religious Liberty class. I draw no conclusions from that; it just simply made me aware that I do it.

I have not once noticed myself reaching for it since it's been off. I'd like to think that it's only because I unconsciously know it's not there. But I wonder if it's because I unconsciously do not miss it.

Less than two months ago, after I found Susannah in the midst of a medical emergency, I was as sure in my faith as I have ever been.

I am not so sure now. I found myself in church on Sunday, wondering exactly what I was doing there. Up until now, I have been steadfast in my belief that my faith was a conscious choice, but I no longer remember why I thought that.

My head swims along. It can't find an anchor either.

I came home tonight at 10:05 to an unblinking answering machine. I hate that no one called me today, and yet on days when I come home to a blinking answering machine, I hate that someone called.

I hate the feeling that no one understands what my life is like. Many a friend has hassled me about how I never call anymore, and I am frustrated by the fact that I allow myself to feel guilty about that, all the while being frustrated at the fact that no one seems to understand that it is not my choice. Maybe it was because I was not the most studious of students in college, and no one believes that I have no free time anymore. Every time I try to explain, it sounds like an exaggeration, even though I know it is the truth.

My friends don't understand. But I don't think I do either.

I am afraid to question my faith. Christianity teaches us that while there is no reason to doubt, it is understandable that it happens.

I do not want to question my faith. I have taken comfort in it many times. I do not want to question it. My exploration into other's beliefs has always been an intellectual one. I question and explore my friend Gillian's belief in Christian Science and my friend Elise's atheism, out of curiosity. I never had an intention of considering either for myself, and as far as Christian Science or atheism are concerned, I still don't have such an intention.

But now I wonder.

I just re-read what I wrote about school. I had not written "my eyes will fill with tears." I had written "my eyes will fear with tears."

I do fear. With tears. I fear the journey I'm beginning to understand I must take.

I fear there will not be peace of mind at the end. But I also fear that there will be, if it is in something I cannot yet comprehend.

I don't want to be afraid. I think that overcoming that fear is what will break me out of the starting gate. Plenty of people are seekers. They accept that they do not know, and they work towards the discovery of that knowledge.

I somehow understand that I will not be afraid forever. It will take time, I will work through it, and then I must begin the journey I cannot describe, down a path with an end I cannot see.

Hormones. Stress. Long days, hard work, little sleep, zero nutrition.

I do not want to wake up in the morning and chalk this up to those things. That is my pattern, my trademark. I wrote the book on avoidance.