The Internship, the Moths, and the Wardrobe

Yesterday I learned that I will not be doing the internship. But the disappointment was made milder — or at least hope was encouraged — by the explanation that given the high level of my qualifications the company didn't think it right to ask me to empty the wastebaskets, etc. I had also requested to be kept in mind if there are any new jobs in the next three months, and this request was freely granted. Since then I've been afraid of a delayed bad reaction, viz. the feeling of being utterly crushed and defeated, but if it has yet to emerge it will certainly be minor. Frankly what irks me a bit is that the moment I decided to work instead of study, two years ago, it was with the implicit determination to accept any paying job — as long as the working environment is not sleazy or similarly degrading, the employer's modus operandi is ethically sound, and I can carry out the required tasks well. It is rather pitiful if I have to remain ignorant of and unskilled in the really practical things in life just because I have a predilection for acquiring foreign languages, for instance.

Financially I am still good for a couple of months, but spending money literally only on transit tickets to and from the Agentur für Arbeit, the bank, and the job interview, and on unexpected fees (*&@$#!) in addition to my monthly insurance payments is not the nicest state of affairs. I already have a list going of what should be paid with my first wages: firstly, the debt in money borrowed for stamps and transit tickets which I owe to Mama, then the cost of a new battery for the watch that my English aunt (as I like to think of her) gave me.

An overhaul of the closet would be good, for instance; I have an enormous quantity of clothes, but it is mostly a feast of the Tantalus variety. It must be admitted, though, that if I washed the shrinkable items carefully, found a way to repel the moths, did a round of mending, and provided a visual counterpoint to the clothing that makes me look like a porpoise for instance by wearing black tights or long pants underneath it, or necklaces and scarves over top, this motley assortment would be less of a torment. I would like to buy a nice pair of high-heeled shoes, the one perfect dress, a fresh supply of black tights, and one superlatively well-fitting rainjacket. But these things can wait. Besides, if my closet meant that much to me I would have summarily annihilated the objectionable items in a sort of sartorial Reign of Terror long ago.