So, on to blah blah greatest compliment is imitation, blah blah, I'm compelled to share:
creative genius my ass
my pregnant dreams trump
Shortest version possible: I was hired on by a crazy Mr. Burns-esque art collector for a high-pay job with super benefits and permission to bring my (yet unborn) baby to work. Fast forward to me realizing that the reason I was hired is that my crazy-boss-to-be is actually some sort of cult leader who is after my unborn baby, because he somehow knows that my baby will be the ideal combination of perfect flaws. (Made sense in dreamland anyway . . .) I could bore you for hours by describing the office/compound and the works of art it contained - weird shit, my friends . . .
When I woke up, I felt how Rambo looks. Lord help any prowler dumb enough to enter my home, there would be nothing left but a pile of hamburger-esque goo, and me calmly picking my fingernails clean - I've had my share of hissy fits, but nothing compares to the outraged/angry/focused/deadly mindset I was in.
I wandered around the house, cuddled the dog and all three cats, ate cereal, and talked with Mr.Hubby (who was thankfully awake at the same time) for nearly an hour before I could even attempt sleep. The dreams that followed were about overthrowing the evil art collector/cult leader while trying not to give away that I had figured him out.
SO, apparently my brain is effectively getting into "protect the baby" mode?