Conversations about God

At the end of my working day, late yesterday afternoon, I chatted with Sonia and Agnes. We were all feeling a bit collectively depressed about being part of the human race. I had just transcribed a police interview with someone possessing child pornography. The smoke fumes from the fires - some deliberately lit - wafted into our nostrils even up on the sealed fourth floor. The smoke set an eerie strange glow to the sun's rays. Last night, I watched the moon rising and it was blood red.

Agnes suggested we press the reset button and get rid of everybody, pathetic as we are. She lamented that transcribing police interviews meant that she looked at every grandfather with his grandchildren and wondered if he was diddling his grandkiddies. I must say, cynicism loves company :)

Still, I said after a while that if there was a God, which I believed there was, then she must still love us even in our mess. We all three agreed on that. That was really nice to me. Three disparate people who all agreed that a God who existed must least be the sort of god who loves his humanity in their horrible, horrible evilness. I think that's a good start.

To cheer myself up on a day such as yesterday, which also happened to be the occasion of my erstwhile wedding anniversary, I resorted to the particularly girlie route of some retail therapy after work. But oh, an hour of shopping is the top limit for me. The unreality of the environment, the snobby sales assistants, the galleries of nubile 20 year olds. The overwhelming, overwhelming choice. I really hate shopping. I do, however, love my new skirt (it's orange). And shoes. And dress. I'm just a bit skint now, that's all :)

This week is a shared sort of lamentation for many of us Victorians. It's been hard to switch off the emotions that slide through from other people. I think there is a touch of navel gazing that goes on when entire towns have disappeared from existence. It has been a bit overwhelming, a very strange week. A week where it felt like the days were flying past but when I look back, I think, was Black Saturday only a week ago? Did I go bike-riding last Sunday, or the Sunday before? Time has stretched and compressed all at once, and I need to slip into kairos to balance it all out. An artist date. That's the ticket. And shared conversations with fellow workers, where we talk just a little about the things that matter? Those things really hearten me.

Happy Saturday, bloggers :)