Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Dreams are funny. Mine are interesting at the best of times, disturbing at the worst of them, but they're never dull that's for certain. I'm a person who grows very attached to people I find, and each time when I've begun to forget someone or else am willing to put a person behind me, they somehow appear in my dreams. It's not that I make the mental decision to part from that person, but I simply don't see or talk to them for quite some time and they begin to fade into the background. Then they suddenly show up in my dreams. People who I was barely acquainted with suddenly enter my dreams and act as though they hold a huge piece of my life. I would merely discard them as just dreams, but the feeling afterwards is more difficult to shake off I'll admit.

I enjoy my dreams, they are often the inspiration behind my stories that I write. I recently wrote a short story entitled "Practicality" based off of images I saw in a dream. There are rarely words in my dreams, mainly just images, like a silent movie. Silent but good for the most. It feels like blasphemy for a writer to say this, but sometimes words aren't enough. The moment is worth more than any writer's words for certain, and those who would throw the moments in life away for books and words is a fool. Although I want people to eat up my words and become published, I wouldn't mind being unsuccessful if it meant people were actually living their lives. My dreams are that way. I feel that they mean something, or rather that they should. The people that appear might be ones I really don't care to talk to much--or ever for that matter--but I still feel as though I owe it to them to capture those dreams in some way. Whether its a few last words or a story, I want them to know that meeting them meant something to me and influenced the person that I am.

People greatly influence us just by being around us. We give off vibes and you can tell a lot about a person if you are open to these vibes. Happy ones, sad ones, or ones that merely make us feel comfortable around some people more than others. That's the impression that these people have left on me. The reason I'm typing on here rather than typing up another story is the fact that I don't know how to capture my latest dream into words. It feels wrong to write just anything, for these two individuals in my dreams being near strangers to me, I still feel as though I owe them something better than that. If even for one night that I had a pleasant dream over a nightmare, I owe them. But, when I don't know what to write officially, I write unofficially on here. My public journal I guess you could say as I'm far too lazy to keep an actual one. The Internet is convenient, picking up a pencil and trying to write into that tiny journal my grandparents/parents/journalism teacher bought me is just too much of a pain--though the one Ms. Butler bought for her journalism editors is indeed very nice. Still, this is where I confide my thoughts... or expel them? I've never thought my thoughts were just my own. I do have my private moments and feelings, but then I just keep them with me. Otherwise, I'm not afraid to say what I think or feel.

Tonight though, I feel bad. Here, just a few images from a dream to work with to write a story. It's been enough in the past, but now it's not enough to keep the creative juices flowing. I'm missing the feeling that I need to have. When writing my "Practicality" story I had a good flow because I could place myself within the story and feel it occurring around me, and suddenly I can't find the way to personalize this. Part of me doesn't want to. There's the side of me that feels as though this should be professional and not person, it's not like I was that close to these people. Unfortunately that part of my mind doesn't seem to realize that if I don't write things as though they were personal to me, it ends up sucking. Right now it sucks, so the only thing left to do is make it more personal to me. Open up my mind. Live. Clash. Learn.