Imagine if you will....
You're laying in bed. The window is open, letting just enough of a soft breeze to waft through the room, carrying with it the scent of fresh blooming orange trees. After all, the nighttime temps this time of year only drop to the high 50's.
During the night, you've managed to find that one perfect position. Perhaps on your stomach, head skewed at a decidedly unnatural angle to the left, pillows tucked under your head, one arm folded under your stomach so that when you wake up it'll be all numb and you'll have to shake it around like an al dente piece of fettuccine to get the sensation back. There's a slow trickle of drool making a connection between the corner of your mouth and the pillow.
Beside you is your faithful and loyal dog, curled up in a ball, tail covering the nose, a slow and rhythmic breathing pattern that is, somehow, reminiscent of the way your mother would slowly sway back and forth while holding you as a child. You've got a light blanket covering your bottom half, but it's warm enough that you don't really need it.
You're dreaming. Nothing odd, obscure, or especially strange, but a pleasant dream. It involves a white sandy beach, Halle Berry (pre-pregnancy, of course), and a thatch hut. As you snorkel around the lagoon, looking for clams and a few crabs to roast on the open fire for dinner, she's gathering coconuts, splitting them open, and mixing in some variation of rum and fruit punch. After your feast, you kick back on the beach near the fire, and regale your tropical beauty with tales of heroism and daring-do.
Then BLAM!, you get struck in the head by a falling floor lamp.