My dreams are made of this

I have been sleeping poorly the past week. I called in sick Tuesday because I was up most off the night. My legs weren't bad; I wasn't sick; I just couldn't sleep soundly.

To illustrate my unsound sleep, my plan last night was to detail my insane dream of Tuesday night.

I was not disabled and seemed to live in a penthouse with lots of windows and skylights. It seemed to be in like North Korea or some tight regime where you needed your ID everywhere.  Maybe I have just been watching too much dystopian TV, and it was America taken over by  aliens.

I worked as a journalist, and although you needed an ID to get in, they let my oldest sister in when I told them she was with me. She seemed to know people there, and was telling which of the strange foods in the cafeteria to order.

The regime also had a thing for baseball, and apparently had scoped out my penthouse because I  was told they liked some of my baseball stuff.

And there was a woman with eyes like Lady Gaga at the Super Bowl. It turned out she was wearing glasses that gave her the glitter look. But then she took off the glasses and the glitter was still there.

Anyway, my plan was to detail all this last night.

Instead, as I sat down to dinner, I coughed and sent my dinner into my lap. Then later at dinner, I coughed, slamming my head into the table.

Thus chastened of any such work, I watched TV.