My dream this morning was the most bizarre set of images I have ever seen.

It started with me leaving some stereotypically Coloradoan house — built on stilts and into a mountain — and getting into my little red wagon and coasting toward home. The road grew steeper and narrower, resembling a bike path more than a road, though it skirted the edge of high cliffs. Political signage sprung up in the opposite lane, signs four feet apart, animating messages in the rapidly flashing by frames. Oncoming traffic would dodge into my lane to avoid taking out the signage. Mostly large vehicles (though what is not large when you’re doing seventy miles per hour in a little red wagon with wooden sides and no helmet). A customer of mine came up behind me, looking angry, alternately riding a silver bicycle and a silver Porsche. She tried to run me into the ditch on my side of the road.

I woke up in a sweat, heart racing and absolutely exhausted. My bedsheets smelled of fear and anxiety.