WEEK ELEVEN.

17 Jan 2018

Can I please take this opportunity to let myself know I did a good job going through travelling and vacationing without disrupting the blog’s schedule? This self-praise does not intend to cover the quality of writing produced but only the fact that the organisational skills were on-point. I hope what it means is that, moving forward, I will be able to take short trips without interrupting the roll-out of posts. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?

In fact, I think my productivity while on holiday was higher than back home – maybe because I was so paranoid about not managing or maybe because there’s no internet in my Moscow flat and I would have no surfing distractions (omg I’m only this second realising how “blessing in disguise” that technical deprivation was) – it has certainly been a bigger challenge coming back home, in “single parent” mode and everything it implies and carries with it (the constant cooking and chaperoning are out to get me).

There is nothing I can add to the work-porn today, no news to report on either changing routines or still barely-noticeable, hanging-by-a-thread PR manoeuvres, so I have a question to pose instead. Here goes: whenever Sofia asks me about what I’ve been up to while she’s at school or at her father’s I reply proudly “writing”. Then of course the inevitable “writing what” comes and I am in yet another struggle with the future: it won’t be long before I will have to either disclose the info, like a discarded KGB agent, or lie. I have written posts that are in no way intended either for my own daughter or for her friends (straight-up horror) with whom of course she’ll gladly share her discoveries. I mean, when I debate f-cking a married man, I don’t expect it to be read by a school girl. I most certainly don’t expect it to be read by a certain school girl. And, fine, she’s seven now, so I’m not alarmed to the point of sleeplessness but what happens after she enters the elusive land of teenagehood?

This brings the broader question (I have all these questions and no answers, I love it) of who to let in on this exciting double life I have begun. I am not a sociable person, therefore my immediate points of contact, after my two close friends, bring me to my daughter’s school gate. Never mind Sofia, how do I feel about revealing the sleeping with the married man dilemma to a fellow mother on the playground? Is there a way to figure out who will and will not judge my thoughts and how it will reflect on Sofia’s social life (while at least one of us has it)? If I am judged will she get caught up and pay the price in the form of a diminishing number of play dates? Will I be side-eyed at the school gate during drop-offs? I mean, we are adults, so… no? But we all have children that talk to each other, so… yes? For sure this is Karma biting me in the ass for being a judgy mother myself.

These musings tend to bring me to Roxane Gay’s Bad Feminist, as if her incredible writing can be of comparison to my fumbles, but I try. Should there be a way for me to find even the weakest of connections to Roxane Gay I will find it. Anyway, in her book, she briefly mentions how uncomfortable she feels that her students (she teaches at uni) have begun to discover her (extremely open and honest) writing. The discomfort is mentioned in a single sentence throughout the entire book, followed simply by… moving on. Sure, Miss Gay’s writing is of such unreachable level that its quality would make up for any uneasiness, I imagine, and that is not the case with me, but f-ck it, it’s either risk playground judgement or stay silent. What is the point of blogging if I can’t talk about it to, like, four women I am in contact with?

That said, no way do I want any of the teachers to find out! Or the Head, omg. I will NOT be stepping into the Headmistress's office.