Purple Bells?

My account was closed after all... so sent another email, and it has been extended, no doubt there, but the IT Service Desk has some sorting out to do.  Phoned to find out what IS going on, and they couldn't figure it out yet.  Never mind, I'm sure it'll be all right soon.

Supermarket errands... laundry... kitchen duties.
Some gaming, not much colouring.  The mandala plate I'm working on can be challenging.  Turned on some music yesterday evening and timed how long it took to finish a small section -- six complete 80s pop songs averaging three minutes each.  Rounded off, that would be 20 whole minutes for that section alone, and I wasn't even distracted while at it.  Again, no rush.  It's really meditative, something I sometimes can't get enough of.

Yesterday, discovered an documentary on the Magdalene Laundries, and the 800 infants and young children who were secretly buried in the garden of a nunnery in Tuam, Ireland after they had died of abuse and neglect, and all because they were illegitimate.  Those who survived were SOLD for adoption, and it was a lucrative business for the hypocritic nuns, who also, by the way, abused the young mothers by forcing them to do hard physical labour.  It's interesting for me to consider my own case -- was I sold as well?  The first set didn't want me because I was inconvenient, the second abused and violated me because the first set had turned their backs.  Twenty-seven years.  The victims interviewed in the documentary have been carrying the burden all their lives.  All their lives.  Even after they'd moved on, they still brought it with them because, frankly, there is just no way to resolve a trauma like that.  You can't pat me on the shoulder now and tell me 'You'll be all right.  Stop fretting and just get on with it.'  Of course I've moved on, too.  I've done a lot of things since 'then'.  It doesn't mean 'everything's okay now'.

The documentary didn't make me shed a tear.  I've managed, just as thousands of the victims have managed.  What I felt inside, though, was a very quiet rage.  'Don't worry, 'God' loves you' is as empty as a field of dry, barren soil.  There is nothing there.  People do this, 'Supreme Being' or not.  That some of us have 'made it' is the result of a throw of the dice -- we happened to be survivors and fighters.  We are of the obstinate, independent, rebellious kind.  'You're not allowed to live.'  'Oh yeah?  Who are you to say so?  Don't give me the bull that you represent 'God' because he's not there and there's only you.  Well, guess what?  I'm here, too.  And I don't give a sht if you don't like it.  Got that?'  I'll never know how the exchange took place.  I'm only sure now that it did.  Never mind how much or which parties were involved, all of it transpired without any thought or consideration about how it would end up for me.

End of rant?  Maybe.  For now.  Thankful for today's various activities, but most especially for the uncomfortable insights gained.  Anything that brings me a step closer to understanding what really happened 61.5 years ago is a plus.

The purple bells were shot in the backyard.  A semi-grey day but warm enough to do supermarket errands on foot.  Tomorrow, I'll be visiting an ex-colleague from the Rotterdam days.  Perhaps hunting afterwards?