Right now I am E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D.

My co-worker asked why I’m so pooped, and I explained the nightmares, to which they laughed.  Not like “midget robbers… okay… looney”, but more like “how absolutely bizarre.”
Perhaps then tonight, when the nightmares come, I’ll take Bailey downstairs and tell her about my dream.  And she can look at me with her Sybil-eyes and ask for a cookie.  Which I’m supposing is the equivalent of saying I’m stupid.