So last night, on the way home from my friends after lots of silly games of cards, lots of gin, and lots of food, I got stopped by a man in a tracksuit.
He wanted the time - I didn't trust him, so I kept going.
Seconds later, I heard him ask me if I wanted to get stabbed.
No, Mr Man, I did not want to get stabbed.
He wanted £10 or he was going to stab me, as he kept repeating, it looked like he was holding something under his jacket - I had no reason to disbelieve him.
Stammering something along the lines of being a student and poor and that I didn't have £10 on me anyway (I didn't), I turned and ran, as quick as my little legs could carry me.
Once I felt safe, I rang the police, who showed up within minutes, and stood with me as I chain smoked quarter of a packet of cigarettes.
After they took a statement, they took me home, and I made myself the biggest hot chocolate (with cream, and chocolate, and sprinkles) , and tucked myself up in bed.
My sister rang me shortly after (I'd texted the family whatsapp to let them know I was ok) and said "I love you. I always do, but things like this make it so much more important to say".
And that made everything a bit alright again.
All the stress from my unfinished dissertation, everything that happened last night, all the angst about exams and my future: it sounds corny as all hell but it all faded a bit, and to love, and be loved in return, rose into sharp focus. What really mattered shone in my face.
Tell your loved ones you love them, whenever you get the chance.
All of this ties into my current fears about working in the 9-5 machine, and living to work, and whether I can use my degree or not.
Perhaps I'm becoming less and less sold on making money, and more and more sold on myself.
Maybe I'm just still in shock.
(Massive thanks to the South Wales Police who were so good to me last night, dropping me home, taking care of me)