Nightmare

I had a terrible nightmare last night that Obama was assassinated. I had to go to the funeral. (Upon getting there, I realized that while dressing in a dimly lit room, I'd accidently wore a purplish gray jacket instead of a black one. And I'd worn it over a white turtleneck and the church was terribly hot and I had to take the jacket off, mortified that I was inappropriately dressed.) The service was in a Catholic church, which I was a bit confused by since he's not Catholic, but I was suitably distracted by Michelle breaking down with their daughters. Someone insisted on an eccumenical memorial, which turned out to be a ghastly production of random scenes from the Nutcracker, with a middle aged overly-made up lady (with noticeable plastic surgery and badly dyed hair) as the Sugar Plum Fairy and two five year olds prancing around in cheap day-glo fairy costumes.

When I woke up, I could figure out the later parts were a dream, but it took several minutes to convince myself that someone hadn't actually killed the President.