It's troubling to think that I can lie down on the loveseat in the living room on a Sunday afternoon to nap during a football game on television, and have the most vivid dreams of being chased by a large and wily polar bear, and then dream that I accidentally drove my car into someone's wet pasture and a hippopotamus arose from the bog and attempted to eat me. I cried for help. "Help me! Help! Help me!" to no avail. I could feel the inside of his mouth with my arm and hand. I was elbowing him violently with my other arm.
"Paul!" I asked upon awakening. "Was I not thrashing at all?!"
"Sheesh, Trish", he snorted.
Sunday afternoon, Sunday afternoon.