One very rude awakening

I typically read before drifting off to sleep.
If I had a dollar for every time I've been awakened by a book cover jabbing me in the eye, ribs or cornucopia, I'd be a rich man indeed.
The current late night book of choice is Miracle At Midway by Gordon W. Prange. No, it's not a tale about an amusement ride fanatic with unlimited coupons at the Peterborough Ex. Rather it's an analysis of the June 1942 Pacific Ocean battle between the American and Japanese naval fleets that really marked the beginning of the end for Hirohito and Co.
While reading helps to expediate Mr. Sandman's visit, the outcome is totally different when I combine that activity with food. Last night, against my better judgment, I devoured a huge bowl of chili before before picking up Mr. Prange's contribution to my modest home library.
That was around 10:30 p.m. Just before 12:30 a.m., I awoke, flailing my arms and generally thrashing about. A nasty dream, a nightmare really, had seen me take to the skies over a vast ocean; an endeavour which saw my plane riddled with bullets before going into a frightful spin.
Regaining my senses but sensing pain, I checked myself for wounds. Sure enough, right between the shoulder blades, I found my injury. Gingerly, I removed Miracle At Midway before screaming for the medic. Alas, she was fast asleep. War is truly hell.