THE STRUGGLE IS REAL?

“What is this yet another unpaid “path” our unemployable daughter fancies she’s “exploring” and how quickly will that die of natural causes, like everything had before it?” is the question my infinitely-worried mother is asking my exceptionally patient father. She has asked me that, too, but, like any mature forever-child, I stared back at her and in a mocking whisper copied what she said. For the truth is: right now, I’ve no idea. My poor mama, she’s giving up on me as we speak…

I do know this: correct grammar and spelling give me a hard-on (both are super complicated in Russian, my mother tongue, and I only don’t eroticise about them because that would be weird), even during my dark days (thinly coded “excessive drinking”) I would rip through some serious amounts of Dostoyevsky-level prose, and I have got a degree in Communicating and Criticism of Something Something. If those aren’t writer’s qualifications, then never running out of sh-t to say but not having actual people in proximity to say it to must be them. Basically, I FEEL qualified.

I just have never truly stuck anything out.

Ah the good old discipline. I seem to only possess it when either my life depends on it or when it comes to managing Sofia’s, my 7-year-old’s, schedule. I am proudly a nazi of a mother. So yeah, everything else is, let’s just call it, “fluid” in my relationship with life in general and ambition, or lack thereof, in particular. I have attempted, and dropped (failed?), a few ventures, all pretty recently, though not for the lack of love for them (viva, Rap-Art!) but out of frustration, investment outage and, sure, laziness. I’m telling you, white privilege f-cks with your intentions and plans and I’d been living in its belching effect for ages, with the exception of a couple of years when I had a “real” job as a real teacher in a real-ass school. My mama was so proud of me then.

So here I am, mumbling “I dunno” under my breath to answer my own “what’s up?”. I am scared I wouldn’t be able to learn to manage the website (NOTHING is scarier than learning to manage a website and I have both bungee-jumped and given birth – I know fear!), afraid I will run out of subjects to write on (should this happen please shoot me in the back), wary of my disciplinarian resources (thickly coded “severe limitations”). On the major plus side, writing is free (when was the last time you heard that?) and flexible so I can keep doing the school runs and the grocery shopping and whatever other white privilege I fill my days with, like scooping up my cats’ sh-t.

So, should I start answering the dreaded “What do you do?” with the casual “I take care of my daughter and in the spare time I write” or somewhat less casual “I write while, in the spare time, taking care of my daughter”? Second, right?