Batch

11-02-2013 -- Out visiting a friend or a relative somewhere, and sitting in a room petting a cat which may or may not be one of my cats from somewhere in the past. The mother in the place decides to make me something to eat, and is cooking a couple of 'hamburgers' made of sausage for me. Since she is cooking, anyway, she decides to make a few more, both regular burgers and sausage burgers. Soon I am preparing a couple of buns, and am thinking about preparing a couple more, and asking if I can take a couple more burgers with me when I leave.

Soon I am standing in front of the Hickory house with Dave D., and we get news somehow that there is somebody bad wandering through the neighborhood. I decide to walk Dave home (two doors down) to let Don and Rachel know about the problem. Thing is, as we're just entering the door, we hear someone behind us and turn to see someone walking up behind us that looks like one of the 'Gentlemen' from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We slam the door, and he eventually goes away.

Don comes around and sees I am shaking and starts to comment that I probably have my gun locked away in a filing cabinet, and never even touch it. [I have dreamed that I own one or more guns several times over the last couple of years. In this particular dream, Don probably helped my mom pick it out for me.] I explain to him that it is actually in my desk drawer, and I take it out every couple of months and take a shot at the tree across the street, just to make sure it still works. For some odd reason, I then start lecturing him on every detail I think I know about carry laws and how I am and am not allowed to carry it [almost certainly based on a discussion in a Harry Potter Yahoo group I read recently]. When I run down, he suggests some sort of clip which would prevent a crook from grabbing the gun and using it, and I am trying to figure out how it would work, until I figure out that it is an odd cross between a rubber band and a paper clip that would somehow fit on a file folder and make it more difficult to open.

I fiddle with the thing for a bit, then decide it is time to go home. I rush down two doors and get inside, then go hunting for my gun. I hope it is here, because I have been moving around so much, a lot of my stuff is in storage. [Since the Hickory house and mom being alive predates my moving around a lot, this doesn't make a lot of sense.] I don't find my gun in the desk where I expect it, but then I decide to check in the filing cabinet, and lo and behold, there it is, right where Don suggested it would be. I also manage to find two bullets and load them. Unfortunately the rest of my ammunition is in storage, along with my other guns. The one I do have is a decent sized hand gun, but I know I also have a smaller hand gun and a rifle somewhere.

Meanwhile, I hear my sister yelling at my mom. It turns out I have an older half brother (even older than Ron) that I had never heard of, and the fellow was violent. He has a habit of attacking family members, and Melody has heard that he has some kind of marriage contract on me. (Say what?!?) She's mad at mom, because mom has invited him to come by for a visit. I hear the door bell ring, and glance out the window, and he is here. He looks like Mark Henry (huge black professional wrestler), and just in case, I have him in my gun-sight. Mom and Melody are at the door, and he either kills them, or somehow knocks them out, and knocks the door down and storms in. He has a machine gun in his hands, and is hunting me.

I dodge around the two doors in my second bedroom, trying to stay out of sight until I can manage to get a good shot at him, but he's firing that machine gun all over the place. Eventually I pop out at just the right moment, and manage to get him with two shots right in the chest, but he manages to catch me with 20 or 30 shots all over my body. He falls to the ground, while I stagger toward the back of the house. I hear him get to his feet and stomp out the front door, and I call out to ask him why he has done this. He doesn't seem to have an answer for me. I lock the door, to try and keep him out, and then stagger to the telephone in mom's room to try and call Don for help. Problem is, I can't manage to remember his phone number. [Oddly enough, I think the places I got shot in the dream match up with the couple dozen mosquito bites I got on Halloween at my balloon gig.]