Dreaming about My Forever President

In the dream I was in a massive hotel with a lot of official people looking over a dark and swelling river.
Some doomsday effect was going down. Perhaps the river had ruptured and exhausted lives.
Maybe the sun was leaking and we were quarantined.
Something inense.
I held a bossy management position. Comprehensive and authoritative decisions were expected of me.
Disaster management.
I was tired. My teeth hurt and were being crushed by other teeth. The party was contrived and rife with white men.
I gazed at the bulging river through distorted hotel glass.
I liked the music being played in the room, upbeat in contrast to the view.
Barak Obama walked into the room. I felt relief. I grinned at him.

The sun appeared all crisp and new.
The mood instantly changed. Someone offered him a drink.

He was relaxed and happy.
People were taking photos of him with their phones.
I asked him to dance and he stared at me.
You're so short, he said. It would be like dancing with a child.
He lifted me onto an ottoman with casters and this is how we danced. My hand on his shoulder as he slid me about the room. I was laughing with delight.
You can fix anything, I told him.
No, he said, I just know how to dance.