In the first dream, I had a handgun, it looked like a WWII-era military .45 automatic, but it was actually .22 caliber and had a cool barrel extender that increased accuracy and muzzle velocity, I wonder if such a gun actually exists. I could ask D. Brian, who lives in the Dakotas and knows more about handguns than anyone I've ever met, but I unfollowed him on Ello for, predictably, being a Trumpist. Anyway, I don't know where I got the gun, but it was mine. I wanted to use it for quite an inappropriate task: to put a small, neat, round hole in the side of a metal tube that was a bit like a penny whistle--just on one side. I don't know why in the dream I thought I could do that, when in real life I couldn't hit the broad side of a galpón with any handgun.
The other dream had a context that I can't seem to remember, but the strange part was that in the dream I was trying to tell someone where I lived and couldn't come up with the name of the country. I think the strangeness of that was what woke me up. Once awake, I could simply have looked at the gorgeous, dark blue passport with the gold-leaf shield-seal on it. It was a simple matter, though, to start with the name of its most characteristic (though minority) language and work backwards from that. Without too much trouble, I deduced that I lived in Portunha. La Isla de Bona Portunha. We are very happy here, though a little strange . . .
