I dreamed of Barack Obama, two nights in a row.
The first night, I was at a small town carnival. There were rides, games and food stalls, all set up on a circular track, somewhere in the Great Plains. Everything had that golden haze of late summer and the ground looked dry enough to be set ablaze by a single spark. I was walking with two friends and was aware that the President was somewhere at the festival, just as I knew he was aware of me and my dislike for him. I found him at last, working at a hotdog stand. He was wearing what looked to be a costume - a straw boater hat, a striped shirt with white collar and cuffs - and was playing at being part of the town, just a normal fellow. I walked up to him and he offered me a hotdog, grinning at me like he does. He was trying to win me over.
"Mr. President, if you just do what's best for the American people, you'll be fine."
He nodded and smiled.
"But the problem, Mr. President, is that your opinion of what's best for us isn't. Not only that, but whatever lies brought you here, you now have all the power - and you are forcing yourself on us."
His face changed, and he became angry. I had just accused him with the truth.
The second night, I dreamed I met him in an office. Everything was too new and too clean but strangely he sat behind an old, brown '60s style metal desk, hands folded on top of it. He was wearing a cheap shirt and tie. I walked toward him, wondering why everything looked so blue...ah, my brain was trying to recreate fluorescent lighting. As I approached I lucidly decided that I'd have the same conversation with him, that the last night's dream was just practice. He leaned toward me slightly and wasn't smiling this time at all.
I said my lines again, almost in exactly the same way, and woke surprised. I wondered if he's had dreams too - of a small, dark haired, disapproving woman who stalks him as he sleeps.
Keep one eye open, Mr. President.