When it's time to break up with your homeless hitchhiker

 

I dreamed I gave a ride to a homeless man, and after a while, it seemed he had moved into my car. I began to notice an accumulation of extra clutter, not my own, in the car. At some point, he said something that pissed me off, and I told him point blank: "Ok, that's it. Get out." 

It started to get ugly at that point. I had a little fear that he'd refuse, perhaps try to carjack me, or just plain assault me. But it was just your typical bitter breakup bickering that was going on, as I made him start unpacking his stuff. 

I realized that he'd gotten too comfortable when I saw that he'd somehow moved a couch in, as well as all his handyman tools, along with the usual fast food wrappers and things that accumulate in a car when someone lives in it. 

He was pretty pissed, but managed to keep it together after I threatened to call the cops. He even offered to repair some damaged door lining with a few of his golden thumbtacks.

Prior to that, I'm just remembering, I was in a medical type building, seeking advice from a sagely woman doctor of unknown ethnicity. She reminded me of Lesa, perhaps maybe because everything does these days. Or perhaps it was because of her kind and patient advice, which she went out of her way to dispense to me, despite her being in some considerable pain from her own illness. 

I thanked her profusely and went on my way, realizing that she was in a more dire state than she'd let on. I took my newfound sense of imperative and began jogging along a river bank.

I was in that dreamlike state of wonder, just taking in the details of the scenery, when I noticed the river was rising along the banks. I tried my best to keep my shoes from getting wet, but to no avail. I wound up sprinting through a section of rapidly sinking wet sand before turning around and heading home.  I had the sense that I'd been scouting out this section of river as a place to take Lesa on her visit, which was coming up.

In real life, there is a possibility that she may actually visit me, perhaps as soon as January. I've always seen things like this fail to materialize, but I am going to have to work on cleaning up my house just in case. We've talked about all kinds of things, and she's been enchanted by my descriptions of my idyllic lifestyle. 

Can I help it if I'm just such a charming salesman that I could sell snake oil to a snake? Even though I've given her many reasons to bail, with disclaimers and full disclosure of my failings, she appears undaunted. 

I may have gone too far, in disparaging my own product, however, by stating something like, "This product may contain no actual snake oil and has little or no value, medicinal or otherwise." I tend to always push the boundaries when it comes of oversharing about my own inadequacies.

Time will tell, and we shall see what we shall see. I've given myself completely to the idea, though, that we can make something, her and I, of our two disparate, yet interconnected lives. She's made it more than clear that there are strong feelings on her side, so it's not my usual one way love affair. 

I can't shake my creeping doubts, though. I've fucked up far too many things in the past to not have a dismal view of my own approval rating. I'll stop ruminating for now, and get to cleaning. That's what I should have been doing all along, anyway.