corrupting influence

I'd like to think I'm not alone (in a misery-loves-company way),but also hope I am alone (in a I-don't-wish-this-on-others way). Last night, again (I wouldn't say it happens often, but definitely too often), I had dreams (or nightmares) in which I was helpless as a mother. My dreams are typically very vivid, but last night was just too bloody real (bloody and real). My little boy was suffering and the doctor (it was his real pediatrician in my dream) gave me that sad, there-is-nothing-we-can-do look as we hunched down on the ground over his tiny little body. I woke instantly to go check him, only to discover he was in my bed...my husband just lifting his peacefully sleeping body out from under the covers to carry back to his own bed. 
I almost asked him to leave him with me, but instead fought for a little more sleep, which didn't come. The rest of the day I felt like I had a hangover, and eventually wrote this...

with no liquor to blame
I'll attribute this hangover
to the corrupting influence
of restless dreams

©Erin Croley
(from a #MadVerse Twitter prompt)