With me, flying is really just a controlled fall.

Woke up way too early this morning, but lovely wife kept monkeys quiet as I went back to bed and slept until almost 9.  This is what happened after I curled back up under our huge blankies.

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As frequently happens, I was playing with a plane, a model of a P-40 Warhawk, that started as a toy and eventually became an actual way for me to fly.  It remained in my hands, but I somehow knew that it was the source of my flying abilities as I soared high above the clouds

I could feel the wind whipping past my ears as I looked up and realised that I’d put an extra fuselage on the top of the plane.

“WHOOPS, good thing it still works…” I thought, before reaching out and smudging a few different clouds into the horizon with my thumb, “they look a bit like storm clouds but they’re not, so I’ll just blend them into the bottom so that the people down below don’t get worried.”

As at least a small measure of reality started to dawn on me, I figured out that “flying” was most likely a form of extended free-fall, and I tried to affect my path to the ground accordingly.

It was very cloudy, but I spotted a helmeted figure flailing his legs and thought, “Hey cool!  Another skydiver!” until I saw that his descent into the cloud bank was significantly slower than mine and that he was in fact tethered to the helicopter above him.

Two things occurred to me at this point:

  1. The Navy must be out doing manoeuvres.
  2. I must be very, very close to the ground.

I flattened myself out to send myself into a “coast” and though I knew it would affect my landing I also knew that I wouldn’t have time to get my parachute out otherwise.  I cleared the cloud bank enough to see that I was over the ocean and there were Navy helicopters all over the place.

Hoping I was staying out of their way, I pulled the ripcord on my stomach and landed near a garbage scow that was being used by several ocean-going Ford F-150s.

Hoping to stay out of their way too, I swam to near where the trucks were pulling up and dumping their trailers and simply grabbed onto the back bumper a creme-coloured truck pulled away from the scow.  Just like we used to hookybob when I was a kid, I calmly held my toy airplane in one hand as I was dragged through the water by this pickup truck that was somehow able to float and move about in the ocean.

As it pulled up to a floating resort-type ship with a huge port, I figured this was as good a place as any to try and find my way back to wherever it was that I was meant to land and did my best to blend in with the tourists.

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