Dream Host

I've got a problem in that I'm just not getting solid sleeps these days. I don't know why. I'm more tired that I've got any right to be, really. (Although I have been sporting this useless mini-cold that refuses to become raging and productive, yet also refuses to go away.)
Still, I lie down on my bed and pretty much just lay there with my eyes closed. I'm pretending to be asleep- for no one's benefit.

What I think I need is a Dream Host. This guy, dressed in a nice tuxedo, would reside in my head like the Maitre'de of my subconscious. When I was ready, eyes closed and feet sufficiently rubbed together the appropriate number of times, he would lead me down the dark tunnel to the REM Theatre where my dream would play out on one of those giant screens with TMX surround sound. Before that, he'd tuck me into my theatre bed all proper-like. Maybe he'd give me some popcorn and some Sleepytime Tea. And play with my hair. Yeaaaah.

Instead, I've got some kind of demon in my head, barring me from the lovely theatre and kicking me the hell awake so violently I awake with a jerk.
And that demon is the jerk.
Stupid demon.

Good lawd, I'm tired.