I dropped my pencil it fell under the table. I left it there. I desperately wanted to continue to write -but- anxiety told me no. Told me it was impossible. There were too many people in the room bending down would look awkward disturb the person next to you make you a pitiful inconvenience-- so I left it there. I couldn't even pick it up when I left. Because Anxiety was right, it was an impossible task.
I really liked that pencil, curse my fumbling hands.