Oh god. How did I end up in here - again? My now-a-days rarely seen alterego 'the cleaner lady' is earning money (no one else in my multipersonal me isn't). Today when I polished a toilet in a location I wondered, first of all: how the hell that shit turned into dark brown concrete had ended up on the wall behind the toilet thingie, and for second: how come am I cleaning again? Will I be a cleaner for money when I am an old lady, if I become an old lady to begin with?
Oh well. Maybe this is my call.
Meanwhile I am enjoying my non-paying internship at art museums a great deal.
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1 comment:
I think you should just accept your fate and get one of those flowery apron thingys.
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