Poor, poor girl in the kitchen

I can't help feeling sympathetic for myself. Now it is the season to buy tickets, the season for gifts, the season to accept work even from the kitchen. I actually feel quite at home preparing food there but what kills me is to bend down at the huge, deep sink doing all the oily, dirty dishes. After three hours of scrubing my back aches like hell. My tender hands become dry and chap. One lady there asked me how come I end up doing the labour here since i have acquired a MA? On the bus back I feel like crying. I admit I am spoilt. I could very well earn the money by just sitting in the classrrom without doing anything. Do I sacrifice myself for love? No, that is the consequence of my being lazy looking for a decent job. I vow to myself it is definitely the last time that I do something so physically harmful and morally degenerating.