Jenna, this morning, left the apartment at 6:15 because she had to work an unusually early time slot. I say that to explain why, an hour later, I awoke to the feeling of some seemingly foreign object sliding across my chest, headed off the bed to the floor.
Apparently, in an effort to shield my sleep-riddled eyes from the light streaming from the kitchen, I had covered my face with my arms. (Do not, gentle reader, assume that my lovely wife is uncaring and cold enough to turn on all the lights in our humble apartment in attempt to thwart my extra moments of sleep that she, unfortunatly, cannot enjoy alongside me. On the contrary! she does her very best to use as little light as possible in order to facilitate my extra moments of slumber.) In the ensuing hour I lost any sensation of feeling in my right arm. Not only did I lose feeling, I could not--no matter how hard I tried--move my arm. It was completely asleep, profoundly asleep.
That has never happened before and caused quite a shock in my groggy, half-asleep mind. I, momentarily, worried that my right arm would be left useless. Luckily I'm left-handed, so I retained some hope for my promising (if only) career as a literary scholar. Of course, every one knows, one cannot possibly hope to at all function without an operative dominant hand; ask Edward Rochester.
It was an interesting start to the day, if nothing else.