{"id":16091,"date":"2026-02-06T11:12:39","date_gmt":"2026-02-06T11:12:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/brennigjones.com\/blog\/?p=16091"},"modified":"2026-02-06T05:35:29","modified_gmt":"2026-02-06T05:35:29","slug":"blogathon-06-26dreams","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/brennigjones.com\/blog\/?p=16091","title":{"rendered":"Blogathon 06\/26: Dreams"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

My stepfather had a rifle I didn\u2019t know about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a proper, bullet shooting rifle, a bolt-action .303 which he kept at the back of his wardrobe and I didn\u2019t know about that either.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One night, when I was about 8 or 9 years old, I had a dream. I dreamt I went rummaging about in the back of his wardrobe (and got hit in the face by something metallic as I did), I removed the rifle I didn\u2019t know he had, and took it down to the kitchen where I gave it a rudimentary clean (I didn\u2019t know how to strip it down or anything like that).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I wrapped it in newspaper, took it back upstairs and stowed it at the back of his wardrobe again (and avoided getting hit in the face this time). The next morning I had a black eye, no idea how that injury had occurred, and no memory of the dream or any nocturnal activity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fast forward about 2 months and we all got called to a Family Conference. The stepfather asked which of us had been messing with his rifle. I was (as my siblings were) stunned to learn there was a firearm in the house. We genuinely didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He produced a newspaper-wrapped thing, placed it on the kitchen table, and peeled back the newspaper to reveal\u2026 a rifle!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To my eyes it was a bit like the air-rifle my younger half-brother had, but different. Anyway, we all denied any knowledge of touching it because none of us even knew it existed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that day he opened one of the kitchen windows, leaned on the windowsill and shot at a rudimentary target he\u2019d set up on the opposite side of the courtyard. I recall my mother was very unimpressed with this activity. I also recall he only had 5 rounds and he wasn\u2019t much of a shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A matter of days afterwards the rifle disappeared for good (I strongly suspect my mother dictated what happened to it) and so the story ends. Except…<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fast forward more than 2 decades to me in my early 30s and I had a dream but, unusually, I was able to fully recall it the next day. In my dream I walked into their bedroom, burrowed about at the back of his wardrobe (got hit in the eye by a belt buckle), extracted a rifle, took it downstairs, gave it a wipe down, wrapped it in newspaper, and returned it to its place in his wardrobe. Here\u2019s the interesting stuff:<\/p>\n\n\n\n