Last night, while we were having dinner, we turned on the TV and watched a little of a really bad Clint Eastwood movie called Absolute Power. Clint plays a jewel theif who watches the Secret Service kill a woman who was having rough sex with the President of the United States of America. Ugh. This horribly distasteful premise is supported by a sloppy plot and hare-brained writing. For example, the First Lady starts the cover-up right away and orders one of the SS agents to check the woman for evidence of sex since the Prez is too drunk to remember if he cleared all the bases. SS agent: “I’m no gynocologist.” First Lady: “I just made you one!” Ick.
I think the movie made me dream of burglery. I dreamt that I was awoken by the door bell late one night. I opened the door and there was a policeman. He started talking to me through the screen door, but I couldn’t understand him. I tried to open the door and turn on the porch light, but I suddenly lost motor control of my arms. I kept fumbling for the light switch and the doorknob, but I couldn’t find them. I was apologizing, but my lips and tongue were thick and I could only mumble out the words. It’s like I was having a stroke. Wendy came up came up behind me and engaged the cop.
After he left, I regained my senses and Wendy started to tell me what he wanted. Then we heard a noise in the bedroom. I ran inside and found a burgler going through our things. I wrestled him to the ground while Wendy called 911. I hit him several times in the face, but he was able to get me off my balance and knock me over. He escaped.
The next night, we had a dinner party. I was telling our guests about what had happened, when I heard a noise from the other room. I went in and found the same burgler going through our guests coats and purses. This time I hit him repeatedly in the face–almost as though he couldn’t fight back. I felt queasy and guilty for hitting him, but I didn’t stop until he was unconcious. He was just a kid in his late teens.