I didn't want to go outside on Wednesday night, but the prospect of having nothing to drink other than tap water for the rest of the evening forced my hand.
I want to leave the house less and less - it's better to stay here, stewing, thinking, circling my own limits lap after lap after lap, than interact with anybody else. There was nothing else for it, though.
So I set off walking to the little shop about six or seven minutes from here, noting glumly that I'd need to be careful because I'd misplaced my glasses. Without them, my sight borders on the pathetic, and I'm an accident waiting to happen.
Roads were crossed with caution, coiling my body for the big push from one side to the other, only to pull back at the last second because I couldn't see around a stationary vehicle, or because I'd detected the motion of traffic just as I was about to make my move.
As I walked along, I noticed two men pulling an object on wheels through the gate of a property, a few yards ahead of me. I'm hardly what could be described as assertive, so I slowed my pace down and let them stay in front of me.
Soon, though, I got sick of how slow they were pushing their trolley-like vehicle - it was full of rollers, paint and long pieces of wood, and the bumpy ground did not make for a smooth journey. Every few seconds they were forced to stop and re-arrange the trolley's constituents.
So I walked along the very edge of the pavement, trying to appropriately time a move to pass them and get on with my errand. Any other person would have asked them to just let him past, and never thought about it again. I couldn't get the words out, though, so I continued to tiptoe along the kerb, and it was then that I felt myself falling.
I was toppling, sideways, into the road, and I had to make some quick re-adjustments of my body to prevent it from actually happening. I stood a few inches back from the kerb, unhurt, and a red car sped past me, travelling at some 50mph, I'd estimate. In other words, I'd not have had a chance of survival if I had actually fallen - I'd have been done for, without hope of respite, at the age of 31.
There was no shock or sickness or horror at such a near-miss. I stood there, with my hands on my head, but it was a reaction intended to convey to the world a shock and sickness and horror that I didn't feel. I was within inches of death, and yet remained unstirred. Six or seven hours later, I can write about it with the nonchalant ease of a bystander, or someone who has passed caring.
