Standing my ground in dreamland

Sweet dreams, baby!

It's been a difficult decision, and I won't have the support of all my friends and family, but it's time I stopped dreaming unarmed.

This is a simple assertion of rights long claimed, and even endorsed by legally constituted authorities, in the waking world. For various reasons, I've not followed up in that sphere by purchasing any weaponry, getting trained in its proper use, and complying with the minimal regulations that apply to U.S. citizens.

But those hurdles are absent in the dream world, which I assume also enjoys the unassailable protection afforded to all Americans by the Second Amendment.   And when I'm dreaming, I've come to deplore my vulnerability. I'm at the mercy of any threat, whether truly evil or simply weird, that may enter a given dream scenario.

It seems foolish to continue counting on waking up to escape the threat. Besides, even though I wake up every time (so far), it often feels too late. My sleep, which I depend on under the Jeffersonian promise of "the pursuit of happiness," has been disturbed. A daytime worry has been magnified out of all proportion. People I normally trust have gotten away with peculiar behavior that might have been checked with a well-timed shot into the air. What benefit do I get out of maintaining dreamland as a gun-free zone?

Now, it will be objected that if I provide my dreams with potentially deadly force, carried on my person, I've simply made them more dangerous. That's a risk I'm willing to take, because the net result will be to make my dream world a safer place.

You see, when I dream, I'm one of the "good guys," sometimes the only one. And, as we've been told over and over in our waking lives, the best solution to the problem of a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun. That will be me now.  I can go to sleep with a heightened sense of security, knowing I'm prepared with superior firepower and the knowledge of how to use it.

Others will point out that guns aren't the answer to every dream danger, such as riding in a roller coaster that leaps the track and goes hurtling into space. That's how it may look now, but in most such situations, I'm sure I can figure out that there must be somebody to blame, perhaps to shoot. Just brandishing my Glock and frowning might be sufficient to extract a sincere apology. No need to accept being disrespected, is there?

At any rate, I can keep expecting to wake up, free from any legal hassles associated with an injudicious use of weaponry. Even conscious misuse of guns sometimes results in the shooter's exoneration in what we customarily call "the real world."

So I'm feeling pretty good about falling off to sleep equipped with a premeditated dream arsenal, locked and loaded. Nonetheless, I thought all my friends and acquaintances first deserved this friendly warning. Even those I haven't seen since fourth grade make appearances in my dreams, so I it's only fair you guys should know about this, too.

Don't sneak up behind me or make any sudden movements, unless I'm dreaming that you're dancing or something. Keep your hands in view at all times, and nobody gets hurt. My right to self-protection comes first, I'm sure you understand.

It's worth a shot anyway.