Last night I was having a dream that I was in the kitchen talking to Doc. I was telling him about something that ended with me flipping the double bird to God and yelling "Eff You!"
I woke up feeling a bit uncomfortable, both about what I had done in my dream and because I had to go to the bathroom. Half awake, I rolled to my side and made to swing my legs over and stand up at the same time. Because I had socks on, I didn't realize that my feet were entangled in a fuzzy blanket that is not usually on the bed. And as I made my forward/upward progress off the bed without my legs underneath me, I was dropped on my knees with an almighty force.
I knealt on the floor breathless. I was overcome with rue. Earlier that evening, I had been talking to Elizabeth about a friend of ours who had never "been knocked to his knees" by life. As my knees throbbed and my wrists burned, I felt smote. I thought, who the hell was I to judge whether or not someone had had any hard knocks.
"You OK?" Doc asked, after having been gasped awake by the holy thud I made.
"Yes," I said as I recaptured my breath and made my way to the bathroom, thankful that no one was awake to see what must have been a spectacular fall.
When I returned to bed, Doc began to tell me about a dream he had. Then I told him about mine. He laughed.
"I probably shouldn't have flipped God off," I admitted.
"Probably not," he said.
I related this dream to Hot Lemon on the phone this morning. He said, "You know that kind of thing never happens to Pastafarians..."