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crookedfingers
June 2nd, 2019 
It is 9:57 AM Sunday morning here in West Michigan. It is a sunny day here where we live out our days. I got up this morning around 6:15 AM. I got up made a fresh pot of coffee and then made myself some oatmeal for a morning meal. I ate my oatmeal messing with our main computer. After messing with our main computer I wrote in my paper diary and got out to read my Reformation Commentary on Romans 1-8. In this commentary I am in Romans chapter two verse 12, "For as many as have sinned without the law will also perish without law, and as many as have sinned in the law will be judged by the law."

I went downtown to Reader's World to get a stack of Sunday newspaper around 8 o'clock AM. When I got home I looked through the The New York Times Books Review. Now I am writing in my online diaries. At Reader's World I did buy a hardback novel titled, 'Ohio' by Stephen Markley.

Carol has not call me yet from out West.

I have nothing to do today that will bring me a sense of accomplishment. Last night I sat in silence and watched television. I went to bed around 11:30 PM last night. I did not sleep soundly. I have been coughing all morning, I might be coming down with a cold.

I suppose I will close to feel freaked.


I was an unmarried girl
I'd just turned twenty-seven
When they sent me to the sisters
For the way men looked at me
Branded as a jezebel
I knew I was not bound for Heaven
I'd be cast in shame
Into the Magdalene laundries *

Most girls come here pregnant
Some by their own fathers
Bridget got that belly
By her parish priest
We're trying to get things white as snow
All of us woe-begotten-daughters
In the steaming stains
Of the Magdalene laundries

Prostitutes and destitutes
And temptresses like me
Fallen women
Sentenced into dreamless drudgery
Why do they call this heartless place
Our Lady of Charity?
Oh charity!

These bloodless brides of Jesus
If they had just once glimpsed their groom
Then they'd know and they'd drop the stones
Concealed behind their rosaries
They wilt the grass they walk upon
They leech the light out of a room
They'd like to drive us down the drain
At the Magdalene laundries

Peg O'Connell died today
She was a cheeky girl
A flirt
They just stuffed her in a hole!
Surely to God you'd think at least some bells should ring!
One day I'm going to die here too
And they'll plant me in the dirt
Like some lame bulb
That never blooms come any spring
Not any spring
No, not any spring
Not any spring
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