I'm worried about my brain

This was my dream last night..

It's my wedding day. I'm about to go downstairs to the reception and I'm in a bedroom checking my makeup in a compact mirror. At this point in my dream, I'm having loud and preoccupying thoughts about how my lips and cheeks look like they've been raped by the 80's. I then resign myself to the fact that I am looking hideous and go downstairs to the reception, very aware that I am, indeed, Barack Obama's daughter. Sadly, daddy isn't downstairs, nor is my husband. There are, however, rows upon rows of table tennis tables for all the guests, none of whom I seem to know. At this point in my dream, my brain decides to reveal to me that they're all from country Australia. I decide to take five and look outside. They're children playing ring-a-rosy quite sweetly and for some reason they're dressed like various story characters. One is Snow White, another is Sherlock Holmes. Disturbingly, they have children's bodies and adult faces.

Flash forward. I'm now dead. For some reason, someone has decided to bury me in my bridesmaid dress from cousin Rebecca's wedding. However, being dead hasn't stopped me from being able to walk past my body with Luke, which is for some reason, on display Lenin style. Luke comments happily on what a realistic job they've done on me. Too bad dead me has turned into a clothes shop mannequin - one of the ones that have no distinguishable features and are all white and angular. I do, however, take a moment to think about how this means I now have GREAT cheekbones.

Flash forward. I'm working on the Governor of California's new electoral campaign. No, sadly not Arnie's, as I distinctly remember asking this in my dream - it was just some other guy. My dream ended on putting EVERYTHING to do with the campaign (including staplers and post-it notes) in a glass trophy case.

I don't even know what to do with this.