Ken Jennings?

I was in the middle of a dream. I was a student at Fuller Theological Seminary and as punishment for making clearly inappropiate jokes about the term "Fuller" I was being made to watch an Extreme House Makeover marathon, hosted by Ken Jennings. (that guy that won Jeopardy too many times)
Obviously it was a dream displaying many resentments harboring in my subconscious. So there I was in a board meeting room, resembling the hall in the University of Oklahoma's library that houses the doctoral theses (which, oddly enough, resembles the great dining hall in Harry Potter films). Anyways, Im sitting, watching Ken Jennings drone on about some poor family which I feel something move across my feet.
It was at this moment when I woke up from the dream and realized I was feeling something moving, across the soles of my feet. So I did what anybody would do after bring startled awake during a Ken Jennings extreme house makeover edition marathon as punishment for being a naughty seminary student : I started kicking like Mia Hamm in the womb. While simultaneously reaching around for my headlamp. I looked like an epileptic doing snow angels.
Much to my dismay I had been moving around a lot that night and now I was severely disoriented as to my position on my bed in relation to said headlamp.
So I did what anybody would do while being severely disoriented after being startled awake during a Ken Jennings extreme house makeover edition marathon as punishment for being a naughty seminary student : I curled up into the fetal position and told myself I was in Mother Mary's womb. Safe and softly floating in the holy mother's fluids.
On reflection that sounds disgusting and perhaps blasphemous but right then it was overwhelmingly sooting and surprisingly orienting! I found my headlamp.
Its probably a good time mention my mosquito net, aka the Force Field. Which I have had (up until 2 days ago) complete faith in. What happened 2 days ago?
Well, trying to conserve batteries, I was using a candle to read in bed and, hey, guess what, mosquito nets are flammable. But dont worry, I fixed the hole with a clothes pin...or so I thought.
GAH!
Huge WARNING signs. Open hole in Force Field. Startled awake by an Intruder!
It was time to reasses the the situation.
Headlamp: ON
Phone: 2:34 am
Orbit Gum: Chewing (yes, i sleep next to a pack of gum)
I proceeded to conduct a thorough perimeter check for any untucked areas in addition to the gaping hole.
Perimeter secure.
I conducted a scan, like if X-MEN'S Cyclopes was a grocery store cashier. I was no missing a square inch of my bed. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Kunyina. Tagwe. Nothing!
And thats exactly what I found. Or didnt find. Are you disappointed? I was. Actually no, I was distressed. I mean who can go back to sleep after that.
Good think I keep a bible next to my bed. Leviticus ought to do the trick.
19:11, do not steal. I did use my neighbor's spoon without asking today.
19:30, observe my Sabbath and have reverence for my sanctuary. Damn, today was Saturday and not only was I mocking a theological institution in my sleep but I was awake wishing to occupy the same place as the baby jesus.
This wasnt working. I turned off my headlamp. I spit out the gum.
And started to recite the preamble to the Constitution. "We the people of the United States in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility..."
Ensure what?
That bastard Jefferson!
And to think I told a friend she should name her dog after Jefferson. But she chose Kilroy, a bar she frequented back home, ah yes home where I slept peacefully without a force field, fields like corn and wheat and cotton, cotton candy like soft pillows...
Startled awake at 6:45 by my rooster.
My rooster's name is Ralph. I hate the name almost as much as I hate the rooster.
As the rising sun shed its light into my hut the groggy recollections of the night's activities charged back into focus.
I glared down at my feet and there, wrapped in the net was the anklet my sister had given me. dangling at just the right spot to tickle my toes.
So I chuckled at my paranoia and as I went about getting ready for the day, I promised myself I would never be a grocery store cashier.

Post-Script: Ralph as since been killed. He was delicious (thanks for the fajita seasoning mom) and I enjoyed de-feathering him very much.

Double Post-Script: Jefferson did NOT write the preamble to the constitution. But I bet many of you didnt know that. And seeing as how we are free to interpret the document, Im free to reassign the author.

Triple Dogg-Dare Post-Script: Goin back to the village after Thanksgiving (which was awesome). I will be back Dec 20 on my way up to Northern Province for Christmas. Im doing great but my friends need prayers for their backs, which are abused here.