Just Slide With Me

I fell over a couple of days ago. I fell over and hurt my arm. My delicate left elbow, the poor thing was so squished I was certain I'd emerge with a very respectable bruise.

Turns out, not so much.

There are 23 paces between the computer room I sit in and the Ladies' toilet facilities in the building I use. There's a room closer, but the monitors are ancient and hurt my eyes. Considering I spend most of my time online in 6-8 hour slots either reading or writing or vainly trying to do both at once, monitor quality is important to me and my abused eyesight.

A short tangential note: I'm not overly concerned regarding the state of my eyesight. I've been abusing it since I learned how to read after lights out with a large pale-green cuddly-toy-decorated torch, and it's been a long and intense career of abuse since then. I don't think there should be any additional worry for the new generation of readers, either, this is just a new form of maltreatment.

Anyway. 23 paces. 23 paces of a fairly short, emphatically unenergetic, shoeless young woman. I always kick off my trainers and make myself at home in these places. After all, I know I'll be staying most of the night, I know exactly which bit of the room the cctv covers... and I suppose I'm a might possessive of the corner containing the computers I can actually be bothered with.

23 paces.

Less than 23 if the floor's just been polished, because you know I just have to do that dramatic giant slide thing. Right into the doorframe and tripping over the cardboard boxes.

My poor left elbow.