Breaking in
Out of the blue the other day, Eileen asked me how many of the places I’ve lived in did I ever have to break into. I was surprised when, upon thinking it over, I discovered that I’ve broken into almost all of the places I’ve lived. Working backwards: this house, yeah, I think; Ecuador, yep; Princeton dorm, I think so; Oakland Ave., not possible, really; Knickerbocker St., yeah; Seattle, I don’t remember; Gorham St., definitely; Jefferson St., definitely; Madison St., I’m pretty sure; UW dorm, yep; Cornell dorm, no; parents’ house, yes.
I had a reoccurring dream when I was staying in Fort Collins back when I was training for Olympic trials in 2000. We were in a pretty suburban area, and I began dreaming of the neighborhood, which was a lot like any other sub-division in the US. It was certainly similar to many Mequon sub-divisions: Lac du Cour, Ville du Parc, etc.
In the dreams, I would enter a random house. I think the first night I dreamt about it, all I did was go into the stanger’s house momentarily and then leave. But of course, there was this emotion that went along with it — a sort of thrill since there was a risk of being caught. Well then, my dreaming mind caught onto that feeling and took it to the next level. I began walking through the homes. Most times, I’d sneak behind people watching TV or some such thing. I’d wake up absolutely exhilirated by these dreams — I mean, to the point where I actually considered doing it for real. I thought, “you could always just apologize and run if you got caught.” I’m sure I would have been safe. Most people don’t take a weapon with them to the couch. And chances are I wouldn’t have walked in on a guy cleaning a gun or something. But I never really got the courage to do it.