Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Strike Me Down

I feel like an abused child. The children are being so horrible and today I found myself hiding in the kitchen, in the dark, eating the end of a salami. It's shit working as 'the help'. I want to be the rich person hiring servants instead of being the servant, forced to cower in the dark eating sausage because the kids I am supposed to be showering and cooking dinner for are ignoring me and eating biscuits.

Things have been going so well and all of a sudden BAM everything is shit. I'm in a bad mood now and I haven't been in a bad mood since I left Family Thrift. Actually I'm in a FOUL mood, the type of mood where you want to kill everyone then go to bed and never wake up.

The problem is I am not grown up enough to look after children. When they ignore me, I don't know what to do. A proper grown up would not get ignored but in my head I am the same age as them so when they exclude me I just sit in the corner playing with the Littlest Pet Shop by myself, waiting for them to invite me to play. I have tried everything but they just tell me to go away. I'm sure Super Fucking Au Pair would have jumped up and started juggling flaming torches, whilst simultaneously whipping up a kangaroo casserole and downloading the latest Katy Perry song for them. (They wanted to see my music so I brought my laptop and got up ITunes, saying 'Look, I've got over 15,000 songs!' thinking they'd be impressed. All they said was, after browsing through sixty three Kate Bush songs, 'You no have Katy Perry!?')

Oh no, I can feel the Bad Mood filtering through my very being like hot custard soaking into a sponge. Doom awaits me, I'm sure of it. I should get off Facebook, but all I can see is friends making plans without me. I should email my mum but all I can think is 'she hasn't emailed me'. The paranoia is coming, it's coming...

Maybe I need a new religion in my life. On Sunday I went to the oldest mosque in Paris, Mosque de Paris. When we were there we heard the call to prayer and wandered over to the prayer room, but I'd read that non-Muslims weren't allowed in the prayer room, so I hovered around about ten metres away, just to make sure I wasn't being offensive. Meanwhile my friends went closer and closer and I got more and more panicky. I didn't tell them but I was worried that if I took one step closer to the sacred prayer room, Allah would strike me down with lightening for being such an outrageous whore. Kay and Amy spoke to a woman who was sat on a chair outside and then they beckoned me over from my shirking place. The woman said we could go in as long as we covered our hair so we put our scarves on like hijabs, took off our shoes and crept inside.

You couldn't see anything from inside because the woman's section was blocked off from the rest of the prayer room by a curtain. We knelt down and listened to the service quietly but I kept thinking Allah was going to Strike Me Down for all my sins. Sometimes I wish I'd spent my teenage years avoiding boys and alcohol instead of dedicating every waking moment desperately seeking them out..

It was nice inside the prayer room, very calming. But after a bit we crept out because we weren't sure how long the service would go on for and we didn't want to get stuck staring at a curtain for three hours.

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