Dreams can come true, but probably not this one

So last night, I dreamt I was sleeping on the couch, as I sometimes do when my room gets too messy and it stresses me out but I'm not motivated to clean it. Only it wasn't my couch. Or my apartment, even. It was someplace unfamiliar. Big. And nice. And very, very white.

I awoke in the middle of the night because I heard a crash in my room. I sprung from the couch and ran in. My answering machine had fallen on the floor and was making an audio ruckus. I then looked around the room and noticed it was clean. Spotless, even.

At this point, I realized that even though this wasn't my mother's house, the house I grew up in, in my dream it was. Only my mother was at work. And we didn't have a cleaning lady. So who the fuck cleaned my room?

I walked into the kitchen and saw him. He had his back to me. He was wearing my blue robe with the white trim, only it had a hood and it was pulled up over his head. In his hand was a plastic sword.

"Did you fucking clean my room?" I asked.

He turned around. He was either Nick Nolte or Gary Busey.

"Yes I cleaned your room," he began. "It was disgusting. Plus, your mom got me all hot and bothered before she left for work and I couldn't sleep."

"Gross."

"No thank you?" he asked.

"No," I said. Stay out of my fucking room."

I grabbed the sword.

"And," I said. "Leave my fucking toys alone."

What. The. Fuck.