The Paul Smizz boutique (Written 24/05/2007)

You start to work in a boutique. Yes. A boutique, not a store because it's Paul Smizz in Aix en Provence. You spend two days running up and down a zillion stairs fetching shoes and scarves and trousers and jackets and skirts. And key rings. That cost 150 euros. But hey! They come in the shape of an umbrella. Most of the women who come in barely greet you. Maybe because they're too weak from not having eaten since 1985. Most of the young men look at you like the dirt you are. Because you have to work. What a disgrace. They all tell you to fetch the shoes and the skirts and the trousers and the scarves. Then they try them on and put everything in a pile in the changing room. You clean up. On the way down the stairs with the pile in your arms, you see them buying the key ring. You don't understand because you thought they would buy it all. But then again you have never been a 17-year-old brat who tries on 400 euros Givenchy shirts with his Ray Bans glued to his face.

You prefer the ones who don't even look at you. They just come in, try the items on and then say: "I'll take it all in all the colors you have".

And you don't understand why it's so hard to think about this positively. You'll be earning some money, you won't feel like a maintained house wife (or will you even more?), you'll get to speak to people during the days, maybe even get some contacts (or friends yaay!). Somehow you get the feeling that you were meant for something bigger. But then immediately you feel bad for thinking you deserve better than to work in a store. Lots of people do that all their lives. Not just only maintained house wives. Many dream about this type of job. And you feel unfufilled--what kind of person are you? You shrug it off and decide to hide those feelings in that dark corner of your mind where you hardly ever look.

You try to have a serious talk to yourself about what you want with your life. What makes you feel good. You get no where near a solution. Your friend M. advises you to go see a coach. To clear your thoughts. Get some perspective. You immediately think about your family issues. "One problem at the time please!" you imagine the coach saying. But you agree that it's a good idea. If only it weren't so expensive. You think about that new bikini you've fallen in love with and actually reflect over what will make you happier - the bikini or a clear mind? Instead of dealing with this right now, you decide to be woken up tomorrow at 4am to obsess about it.

Then you come home from your day at the store and discover that England has sent you letters claiming that you have some debts. 293.79 pounds to be exact. You were sure that you cleared those before leaving. You feel let down by technology when the debt collectors man on the phone tells you that your card wasn't authorised at the time. You pay the debts with your Swedish emergency credit card and make a mental note not to wake up tomorrow at 4am. Problem solved! You sigh. Then you think that you will ask for some more hours at the Paul Smizz store. Sorry "boutique".