Walking Without Body Parts

I had the strangest experience yesterday as I was taking my autumn walk.  Six of my body parts—no, seven, I forgot about my genitalia—fell off.  They literally detached and dropped to the ground.  How this happened, and how I could even continue my walk relatively unscathed is bizarre to me.  Anyway, I was admiring a particular fiery red maple tree next to the reservoir where I live when my left arm disengaged.  I didn’t notice it at first, for I felt nothing.  What alerted me was a dull thud on the pavement.  Before I could even process what had happened, I could feel both of my ears peeling off as if they had been applied to my head with adhesive tape.  Yes, I could no longer hear the leaves flapping in the breeze or the sound of children laughing at the geese.  What really freaks me out in retrospect is that I was more concerned about what people would think than the loss of my body parts.  Next I could feel my aforementioned private parts sliding down my pant leg.  When they landed on my shoe and rolled onto the sidewalk, I nearly shat my pants.  What was happening to me?  How was this happening to me?  I didn’t cry out for help, nor did I run to the nearest hospital.  I kept walking.  You probably don’t know what it’s like to have your body parts fall off like that.  It’s a surreal experience and surprisingly less painful than I think it could or should have been.  Why did I just keep walking? Again, I don't know.  It's as if fate, or destiny, or just an inexplicable resignation, governed my soul.  True, I was startled at first, but an eerie calm came over me.  I decided to take a detour to the parking lot through a less-travelled woodsy path.  The minute I turned onto the gravel I lost in quick succession my legs, right arm, torso, and head.  Yet I continued to walk into the trees and fade away.