I'm not normally one for posting dreams because in most of mine I go lucid and so they don't really have a chance to mean much. And yes I know that I just said "go lucid" like I am some kind of superhero with dream powers. For all you know I am.
I went to Hardee's for some reason to get breakfast at like 5:30 in the morning because I had to work early, and I walk to work. The food that I got at Hardee's was actually Burger King breakfast, mostly because I love Burger King breakfast, and I'm not sure Hardee's even has food that early. The Hardee's was in a weird combination of Dayton, Ohio and downtown Athens, but in a group of buildings that is in my hometown of Warner Robins. Let's just say that it was in my "idea of a small city." I walked back through the downtown area to my house. When I got there my neighbors, who were Black, eventhough some old white ladies live there right now, were warming up their cars for work and just standing around talking. I went to get the mail (no mail at 5:30 in the AM) and this scraggly looking old homeless man was standing in the driveway and he said good morning while I got the mail. He looked kind of like a travelling buddhist saint, only black and crazy. He even had one of those whippery poles they use to drive oxen with, and a giant sack full of stuff on his back like a big hunch. He had a scraggly beard growth but more like he couldn't really grow one than like he had shaved recently.
I said hi back and gripped the letters in the hand with the Hardee's bag. I asked him what was up, and he said that he was just going home, to sit in his house. I told him that sounded nice and then started to look through my mail as I walked back to the house. I half-noticed that he was walking near me, and it wasn't until I got on the porch that I realized he had just gone into my house. I opened the door and yelled at him to get out of the house (I really just wanted to eat my breakfast). He gave me a scared look and giggled, then scooted around me and back onto the porch mumbling about how it was his mistake and that he had the wrong house, this wasn't his. But he just went into the house nextdoor (we share a porch). So I went in there and yelled at him to get out of Emily's house, more exasperated than ever, because I just want to eat and this guy is clearly not going to go away. I sort of pushed/escorted him off the porch and he just sort of stood around in the front yard, milling about and occasionally chuckling to himself. A part of me knew that he was going to go back inside one of our houses once I left for work. I couldn't eat until I had taken care of this.
I went inside and back to my room and he was there again, this time climbing in through a window. I kicked his lead leg right back out the window, and heard him sort of giggle and sigh at the same time, like he just couldn't get a break here. Thing is, I was never really scared of the guy, or even that angry with him, I was more frustrated that I couldn't just eat and go to work like I wanted to do. My breakfast was getting cold and if enough grease soaked into the bag, it would start tasting like paper too. I got on my phone and called the cops. I walked around in the front yard while I was telling them what was going on, and I could tell the neighbors were listening. The cop that I was tlaking to didn't seem that concerned at all, and I was worried that he wasn't going to send anyone over. The neighbors had started laughing, and eventhough I couldn't hear what they were saying, they were clearly looking at me. I walked around to the side of the house (I pace a lot when I'm on the phone) while talking to the cop about how I didn't see the guy anymore. The cop said that maybe he just left, like it would be ok and he wasn't sending anyone. I heard a giggle from the shrubs and told the cop, no I'm pretty sure that he's still around, then jumped sideways to plop myself down in front of the shrubs and the little, old bastard was behind them, crouching next to the wall. He chuckled and then I woke up.
Jung I'm not, so I have no idea what the hell any of this means. I just really remember that I was never mad at the guy, just frustrated by his preventing me from being alone and doing what I wanted. And I was confused why he would think that my house was his, and a little offended by it. It just seemed like the most crazy, and more than that, rude, thing to do. And I was pissed that the neighbors were laughing, and that the cops didn't care. I was all alone with this problem and no one cared. Damned if I can fathom the depths of this one, especially since I didn't consciously make it like most of the others. The worst part was that I felt guilty about being kind of mean to the homeless guy, but then tried to rationalize it in a bunch of ways. Not only was my frustration justified, but I hate rationalizing away problems and feelings. Also, I felt like I was being watched when I woke up. This whole thing was basically and explanation of why I've decided to try and quit lucid dreaming. Dreams aren't meant to be another arena of control, I feel like I have too much control over my life as it is, it's too mundane most of the time, too systematic and formulaic. I couldn't control that homeless guy at all, or the world around me when I wanted to deal with him, and I could use a healthy dose of that every night. I don't know if I will be able to stop easily, but I'm going to try anyway. Rule of thumb for life after college in a month: take risks.