It’s cold here.  Not the bitter cold that freezes the snot in your nose or the sort of cold you feel when you have to trudge through three feet of snow, but a damp cold that seeps to your bones.  It doesn’t help that we don’t have good central heating or that our beautiful, large windows are single paned (and in need of weatherproofing).

When I tell people from back home that it’s cold, and I do the necessary translations from Celsius into Fahrenheit, there’s always the pause.  This pause almost always makes me slightly embarrassed because I know it sounds to them, those warding off Arctic blasts and Lake Effect blizzards, as if I am making something out of nothing.

I am frustrated here.  The true extent of my social ineptness is so obvious now.   What comes naturally and easily to some people, most people, is so difficult for me.  When I was waiting for my visa, it was easier because I had an excuse to isolate myself.  Here it’s not so much the case.  It takes me days to get over a failed attempt at connecting with other people.

By living with our in-laws, something that has turned out to be a benefit for them as much as it is a benefit for us, I feel that somehow I’ve lost my adult status.  At times I feel my husband doesn’t receive the respect he should just because he doesn’t work for the family business.  We are the last to use the kitchen at night.  We are last to have access to things like the washer and dryer.  I thought we had worked out a plan for using it once a week, the same time, the same day.  This works about 60% of the time.  When on Sunday night, if someone is in the middle of doing laundry, we are told we should have done it when it was not in use.  It’s usually in use.  We cannot do laundry at 2AM when my mother in law’s last load most days is finally dried, and we shouldn’t have to change long standing plans to grab it when we happen to see it not in use.  There are three other people in this household, and they have 6.5 days to do laundry when the two of us are not.

As much as I want to scream that this isn’t working out, I realise that even though they need us, we still need this, at least until some of the loans are paid off.   I am torn right now.  I want them to be secure when we leave, but not at the expense of excess stress on me, my husband, our relationship, or to any detriment to us.

I had planned this to be a light-hearted entry.  My unhappiness permeates any attempt at that I suppose.  Ah, well, there’s always tomorrow to be funny.