I don't know how many other people watch the Big Bang Theory. Today the episode where Howard moves in with Bernadette played. They mentioned, “If these walls could talk”. Coincidentally the real estate showed potential renters through our house as we are leaving and moving to a bigger rental.
I happened to be getting a glass of water as one prospective tenant inspected the kitchen. Her eyes swept the cupboards, coming to rest on my bright yellow sharps container. It's not something you find sitting in among the canned veggies and cereal in your average Australian household. Nothing was said, but the stunned “OH MY GOSH, Do they do drugs?” look is preeeety hard to miss. I wonder what she thought my story was.
The walls know my story. If walls could talk, and she could listen, she would know my story. It's weird to think that diabetes ties in with where you live. A reminder that diabetes is woven into the fabric of my entire life, whether I think about it consciously or not. It's not necessarily a bad thing, its just there, all the time.
If my walls could talk: They'd complain that at odd hours of the night, light switches turn on and off, or the fridge light turns on, the illumination casting an eerie light over a weird girl who rapidly shovels food into her mouth, eyes still squeezed shut.
Maybe my walls would tell you that that girl uses a funny machine in the kitchen, but never in any other room. She carries it with her everywhere, but unless desperate, she always walks to the kitchen to use the machine that displays ever-changing numbers.
They'd probably tell you about all the times she had to wipe blood marks from them, and how much they despised having the sticky fluid dry onto them.
In agreeance with the floor, they'd muse about the strips that, even though they only get used in the kitchen, make their way all throughout the house. The floors and walls have a theory that these strips are building a colony and will one day take over the world.
The walls would whisper about how the girl often comes home and goes straight to bed. She is often woken by her phone and will complain of 'hypos' that made her go to bed.
If they could talk, they would gossip about how the girl is soooo disgusting and sometimes trash dives to retrieve food packages she threw away only moments before. And all she wants to do is read some numbers before throwing it away again.
I'm sure my walls would have many things to say about me, my diabetes, and how little use that bright yellow container actually gets because I always forget to clip my cannulas before throwing them away into the normal trash.