What a night. I had some marvelously vivid dreams.

First, I dreamed Rush Limbaugh showed me his two children. They were mostly air-filled and floating in a swimming pool.

I then dreamed that my mom and I had to fly to Boise, Idaho, to manage a circus for the weekend. We were flying on Southwest, and I was trying to write my name and address on one of those paper luggage tags at the ticket counter. But they all were TWA luggage tags and people had already written on them.

Later in that dream, I was in a St. Paul, Minnesota, motel. I saw a couple of dark-suited, sunglassed men stealing the contents of my room — including the motel’s furniture. My gut told me they were agents of some kind. As they were driving away, I jumped through an open window and into their vehicle. I put my hands over the driver’s face. He proceeded to show off his considerable memory by reciting which intersections were were crossing as my hands blinded him. I grabbed the wheel and crashed us into a house.

Maybe I’m not watching enough television.