Instead, dear readers, I will regale you of the story where nothing, absolutely nothing happens. Not. A. Single. Thing. I studied diligently and became an embittered forty-year-old-teacher within two weeks of my internship, cursing the idleness of youth and how everything-was-so-much-better-when-I-was young. It made me realize I was a major school-geek and that I had completely skipped the rebellious-teen-phase.
Then I discovered that I will not even be paid according to my expensive foreign degree, because my country's bureaucrats have yet to validate it. The papers have now been in some three months for processing, and I find it inane that my motherland simply cannot trust the superior educational system of foreign countries.
Alas. The paper-mill must have its sacrifices and I am one of them.
Of course the Cat was a gentle listener to my laments, while sneakily managing to occupy more and more space in the bed, (and a bigger and bigger space in my heart). My work prospects grow ever dimmer and so I now I entertain the prospect of getting a cleaning job offshore on some oil-rig and start earning my waste fortune. It seems a sweet “gig”, working 2 weeks and having 4 weeks holiday. It would give me ample time to set up and run a cattery on some small farm. I could even hire some retired relative on minimum wage to look after the cats for the two weeks I am off. I can picture it now, quite vividly. How I’d wear old rough-spun dresses and wellingtons, even in summer. Kitted out with one of those heavy woolen cat-patterned fleeces and a home-made hat. I mean, if you’re going to be a crazy cat lady, why not go all out?
I really need to browse other career prospects befitting a cat-lady. I offer you a mental image of possible ward-robe choices.
