Dreamt of coming home once more to find my roommate’s teen-aged son’s stuff — mostly collectable toys of some sort — all over the apartment. There was so much stuff it was hard to move. And I was fed up. As I cleaned a place on the table to set the groceries down, I began tossing his Star Wars action figures and other items into a big pile. “It’s time for you to move out,” I told him, “Mess up your own f–king place.”
The next day he was gone and the kitchen and dining room were immaculate. They were so clean they sparkled. I should’ve been happy. But sorrow filled me and I woke up crying.