Trekhprudny Lane

Yes, okay, yesterday's post made me realize how lucky I feel at moments to be the one to give the girls a bath, or lunch, or read them stories -- I was too quick to complain. But then what's the point of pretending to be consistent? 

I think this is the problem: this place is overwhelming (often in a wonderful way). I am all stirred up, have been for a month, responding to the onslaught of new experiences with loads of adrenaline, and casting about for a strategy, a plan, a specific ambition, that will give the new me-in-Russia an immediate identity (I'm here for this so-and-so project, I can say). Just winging it? That's no good. Necessary (I see in clearer moments) but not exactly inspiring. I want to jump into this place, this society, the craziness and the strange decrepit beauty, but I feel I'm still tiptoeing around the perimeter, barred from coming in. I am impatient.  

PS: Mom, still no package. I am beginning to suspect that someone in our postal department has sticky fingers. Sticky with strawberry jam! :(