The dream is: while with a group of people, we were invited to search through a home for items we believed to be valuable. Since I was in the military, I was assigned to look for anything that was related to uniform service.
As I did this I found myself being followed and then chased by two men. I ducked into a dark room and hid behind a twin bed.
As I saw the shadows of the men enter the room, I crawled around the bed, then decided to slide under it and hide. When I did, I discovered the bed covered a rectangular bottomless pit and I fell into it.
The reality is: I fell out of bed, bruising my right hip, bashing my right ankle bone, jarring my already bad back, banging my head against the dresser as I slipped between the bed stead and it, and injuring my right wrist. This woke my wife, who jumped from bed in a frightened panic that I’d seriously hurt myself, and caused the dogs to woof and investigate me as I sat up.
Once gathered and back in bed, I realized I couldn’t move my wrist. It took a bit of manipulation, but I finally popped the ulna back into place and then allowed myself to drift back to sleep.
The outcome is: as I started back into that place where dreams and reality mix for the briefest of moments, I understood that I am a better story-writer than a story-teller. Enjoy the fall.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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