Reclaiming my full awareness has been fun - but also a bit scary.
This week I was back on the road, mindlessly consuming miles of tarmac and ancient fossil fuel.
Suddenly, 100 yards ahead (ok - 91.444 metres - but my brain is still wired in yards, feet and inches in the same way as perfecly bi-lingual friends will still count numbers in their own language - which I guess is the power of the language we first formulate - but that's another whole other blog topic...)
So - 100 yards ahead of me, the car in front clipped a traffic cone on the central reservation side of the fast lane. I'd never before witnessed or experienced so closely what happens when a car travelling at 70 (or even 80 mph or more) encounters a stationary object. It skewed from side to side, looking like a bizarre version of a bucking bronco, from fast lane to middle lane and back again.
By luck more than good judgement, we managed to avoid each other and the car and driver made it in one piece across to the hard shoulder where he or she did whatever one does when we realise that we have avoided serious injury - or death - by a narrow margin.
Following this little drama, I slowed my speed in the universal driver reaction and went slowly and carefully for the next few miles.
Then, at about the time my body returned to stasis after the shock, and the distance increased between me and the incident, my speed crept up again and I settled back in to my ownership of the road.
Then in my left ear, I heard a slight buzzing sound. I looked across to the passenger window to see a large bee, who either was getting irrationally excited about a trip to the Midlands, or was getting upset at being trapped in my car.
Physics was never my strong point, so for a moment I was engrossed with the possible results that opening the passenger window would bring. It seemed like a binary decision - either the air would suck the bee out, or the blast would fling it further in.
I slowed down, opened the window and hoped for the best.