Squatting in front of the bowl, bile yellow gloves deep in the cold liquid filth of a stranger’s body. Ultimate intimacy becomes ultimate service – no job more pure by definition. But truth is a poor man’s prize and her hands ache to create, to pump, to kill. Anything but clean. To erase someone’s humanity is a mockery to hands born only to glorify our fantastical, mutual destruction.
Blank Canvas Living 
Welcome back!! I’ve missed your posts!! C.’s birthday today! Rather grim…. girl….I remember my four months cleaning urinals with men using them in my presence….the toilet brush took care of that! What I know is that when the cleaners are on strike, then the society falls apart, one filthy toilet and over-flowing garbage can after the other….cleaners are our unsung heroes!! hug!
Thank you Lynn! Four months in the thick of it? With men doing their business as u went about yours? Brutal. But there is always a gift. To be invisible is to step outside the system and laugh like Gödel at the hypocrisy of those slaving within to prove its consistency and completeness 😉. But philosophical pretension is small consolation when you’re scrubbin’ the porcelain…sigh…