We report, you believe it!

It would seem to be a true deviant artist you would have to be normal, as artists are considered deviant by their very nature. Achieving that desired status can be difficult. I've come up with a simple solution for artists everywhere. Simple but not necessarily easy.
Be like me. If you can be like me you can be absolutely normal even if you're the only one.
It may seem like runaway pride to claim normalcy, but I hereby state and affirm that I am completely normal, or in the words of Bob Dylan:
Oh, I'm just average and common too
I'm just like him and the same as you
I'm everybody's brother and son
I ain't different from anyone
Seems like talkin' to me
Is the same as talkin' to you

Nightmare #10,893:

I'm roaming around a dream Boston, mostly concerned with the fact I'm carrying a large amount of ill-gained cash and concerned someone will take it away from me. I overhear people concerned with the fact that strategic bombers are still on high alert, and hoping they're going to be called back. Then there's a flash on the horizon. Someone says in resignation, "I guess they got through the missile defense system."
Most people are waiting around just to die, and do in a number of slow motion ways. Collapsed buildings, a red radioactive cloud. I'm running around trying to find a place where there's nothing falling from above. A lot of people too are going nuts in violent fashion as their final statement.

But a few seem to have developed a kind of exo-skeleton that preserves them from harm, and as one thing or another tries to kill me I develop one too. Slabs of concrete hit me in the head but feel like pillows. Long falls into collapsed underground facilities don't harm me, as well as the red cloud that seems to run around without reason killing everyhting it touches. Another exoskeleton person tells me in order to stay alive I have to receive injections that are being sold on street corners. Luckily I have my ill-gained cash because it costs a hundred dollars per shot, so I am busy looking for people selling large hypodermics filled with either a pink or green fluid. Large gangs become aware I have the cash and are chasing me around, but usually are killed by some aspect of the nuclear nightmare. They can't hurt me anyway, but I don't want to be the one that disables or kills them. There are other horrific scenes that I don't care to report, and are too difficult to describe. People who are close to something they know will kill them hand me their useless credit cards.
I think my last thought is what's going to be the future of the exoskeleton people, if any, when the green and pink fluid is gone. And where does it come from and is it the truth or is it just some stupid last minute scam.

It's hard enough to sleep in the first place, but it's dreams like this that make me reluctant to.
Normally my dreams are just plain old fashioned violence, often started with someone trying to hurt my cat. Well plotted but nor as highly evolved as this one. Or complex.

Speaking of normal, I wonder if other people normally have nightmares.

What goes here? Paws?