George's shirt

George was knocking, which is more like pounding, bright and early this morning around 7am. That seems to be his time of preference.

By the third time, in less than an hour, (which may or may not officially qualify him for stalker status) I volunteered to give oldest a break and answer the door myself. I held it close to my body, to block his view. I don't remember everything he said because I was still groggy.

"Hey, how old are you?" he asks.

Not wanting to give away any personal information, "Old enough to know I still need some sleep." I smile.

"Oh, yah, yah," he puts his boot in the door way.

I hold the door knob on the back of the door tighter as I push the door closer to my side.

I think his shirt is wrong side out. It has writing on it, from a sharpie. Something about receiving a regular check from the 'Social Security Administration' and that he has money to pay if someone (or a woman, can't remember exactly) is interested in having a relationship with him.

Last week his shirt had drawings of houses, I think an address and something about being castrated at 57 years old.

Later this evening he is knocking again. He's wondering if we have a wire for a charger or something. He doesn't have his wheelchair. I hope it didn't get stolen...

My personal life is in shambles and as if it can't get any lower...I think I might have an old, homeless guy trying to pick up on me. Great.