Old Room

So we're staying in his old room. Not having thought to bring my laptop, am now blogging using his old, old computer.

The old bed is too small for the two of us. And incredibly high. So high that my first night here, I fell off the bed & hit my head so hard on some old exercise equipment that was lying on the floor that I needed 6 stitches. Apparently, I also had a concussion and couldn't remember who I was the first few minutes I woke up. But I have no memory of that.

So I woke up the next morning to find him asleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. He'd decided to let me have the bed. The perfect gentleman.

Only it wasn't going to happen. I looked around & found myself another old, abandoned sleeping bag.

Now we both sleep on the floor. At least I can't fall off a sleeping bag.

His room is like a museum of unused & unwanted items because apparently his younger siblings helped themselves to anything that was of any practical use as soon as he moved out.

My mother-in-law was apologizing profusely, saying that they should have prepared a better room for me because I am a 'bride' & this is my first visit etc....And then she broke down & started crying. And then I broke down & started crying too.

That happens a lot around here. People would be in the middle of making dinner or doing the dishes & somebody would start blubbering and it's like it's contagious. It's also become perfectly normal to walk into a room & find people sitting around crying. You would avert your eyes, get what you came to get & then leave.

I don't know why this blog started with the story of the old bed & my stitches. Maybe because that incident was practically the only comic relief we've all had? Maybe I am an airhead who can't write about bad things - only about funny & cute things?

Because it IS bad. Bad beyond anything I was ever taught to articulate.

What else is worth noting? I haven't been out of the house since I got here. Except to the hospital to get my stitches.

And I work so hard. We all do. Cooking. Housework. Babysitting. Crying. Praying. Every night I am so exhausted that am out like a light the second my head hits the pillow.

Except K. He doesn't cry. And he doesn't do any work around the house either. He keeps to himself. Does pray sometimes but not as one would expect and also by himself. I seem to spend more time with his family than him!

Which is odd because everyone seems to assume that he will be the one to change his life & his plans to resolve the situation long-term. This would surprise me if my family wasn't more or less the same. I guess in every family, there is one person who will be expected to shoulder more responsibility. In my family, it's my two oldest brothers. In this family, it's K.

I know my life is about to change considerably. I know that's why he's so quiet, always thinking. And I know we'll talk about it soon.

I just wish he would cry. Or talk. Or get angry. Or something.