Shuffle, heave, scrape, you caterpillar across the floor, sinuously now, call it that, adding a small and inefficient kick to your right as you convulse onwards, trying to avoid collision. The thing-with-drawers is almost certainly not close enough to be an actual impediment but you fear that you might snag against it and cause some movement or shunting, drawing attention to it or to you and forcing another improvised exchange of noises. The least exhausting option is to make allowance, to detour slightly in your continuing high-activity, low-speed shuffle.
The role that you imagine playing in your communal translation exercise is reminiscent of something. A similar approach and general blankmindedness, watching without seeing detail enough to distract from the generality of movement, accepting what you see as valid intention. You were doing this recently.
Shuffle, heave, scrape, you take an inventory, checking as best you can for weapons or utensils, for some survival kit you might have carried all along but have somehow overlooked. You realize that you do not have pockets. Your clothing is light and loose, a single layer. You are dressed for maneuverability and comfort. You do not believe that you carry anything at all, and while you cannot move your arms sufficiently to make a true search and confirm it, your limited and hazy proprioception suggests that you are making no allowance in your limbs or torso for objects heavy or hard or fixed.
You believe, if it came to it, that you could absorb significant damage before you were killed or irretrievably injured. Clearly some of the mass of your body is essentially surplus, jiggling inertly as you bounce, without any merit in the continuance of this trek. You have sufficient movement in your head that you could shake off a bird or a small mammal landing there, unless they hooked, beaked or otherwise clawed into you for purchase as they began their meal. Even then, you could survive for a while. You believe that if you could scrape yourself under the hanging curtain of the approaching nook that you would be able to dislodge them, if necessary.
Shuffle, heave, scrape, the uppermost segments of your fingers are seizing and you compensate with greater palm-bending, more shoulder and neckwork. You wonder, if you were ever to kill someone, if you would be tempted to eat them. The horror of ever doing such a thing perhaps driving you to put their entrails close to your mouth, casually obstinate, perhaps putting some in there, chewing a little or swallowing some, all as an act of defiance of any such behaviour.
You accidentally look at the area above the table but you do not see the man sitting on top of it. You shuffle faster.