There are certain life experiences that you can't put on your CV, no matter how much you feel the effort and suffering have made you better for whatever challenge future employment may lay at your feet. Sometimes these things are dreadful. The epitome of why you chose a life other than that which would have lead you to willingly do that thing as a career, or even by accident. Today I helped clean a victorian septic tank. The heady, pastel-imagery of yesterday replaced by, well, shit. It was awful, and the selfish brat in me wants a medal and a parade for dealing with it. I grasped at the straws of consolation - building character, the beer tastes better afterwards, working in the sunshine, earning my keep, et al. Nothing helped. But I endured, a small sense of accomplishment mingled with disgust and feverish need of a shower ensued. There's a reason plumbers earn vast amounts of money in the UK. Because no one wants to shovel, rod, drain, or have anything to do with shit. And they're right, and I feel that we should keep paying plumbers vast amounts of money. And I can stand on my soapbox, ranting, because I've earned that opinion. And a beer. And a glass of wine.
Tomorrow we fix the pipe that leads to the tank, whether it rains or not. Joy.