Have you ever been driving and caught yourself thinking about a great scene in a movie or tv show? Maybe you're even creating one in your head, something so different that you're not even sure how it fell into your head in the first place? No? Just me? Now I know that's simply not true. Take some time to jot those thoughts down into your phone when you have a moment. (DO NOT TEXT AND DRIVE!!!!) Let that creativity fly, even if it's only coming in a couple minutes at a time pace, get those words down.

I bring this up because, as you all are well aware by now, I love to write. Unfortunately, with growing up and having more and more adult responsibilities, I'm finding myself with less and less time to properly channel this creative energy and relieve a creative brain. I feel like in this time or lack thereof, I'm burning off this creative energy in the forms of my dreams. I can't honestly or accurately tell any of you when I can remember the last time I had dreams this vivid for this length of time. For months and for what even felt like years, I felt like I was closing my eyes to sleep, and then opening them again to the sound of my alarms blaring and buzzing. Anymore, I have vivid dreams that feel very real, full of life, color, and emotions. The other day, I was reflecting on a dream I had and decided to write it down. Today, I've decided to share it with all of you. So without further ado....enjoy.

It's 3:00 a.m. and he's at the table again.

Head in one hand and drink slightly shaking in the other. The clink of ice against glass is the only accompaniment of sound in the house.

"I never used to shake," he commented to the silence around before finishing off the glass. He pulls himself up from the chair and walks over to the freezer for three more ice cubes, and proceeds to fill the glass with them. Walking toward the table he rests his glass in search of his jacket on one of the chairs. Slinging the jacket over tired shoulders, the well matted down lining brushing against bare skin, he grabs the ice chilled glass and three quarter empty handle of whiskey and steps out into the cold. With no porch light on, he easily finds his seat and pours himself another drink just short of the lip before sitting down. He sighs as he takes a long drink, gazing at the darkened windows of his sleeping neighborhood. Brisk fall wind dances lazily around him in the clouded black of night. Another sigh before he pulls at the glass again. He sits down the glass and puts his head in his trembling hands.

"Get a fucking grip man." He thinks to himself, rubbing his temples. He stands up and paces on the small cement pad of a patio. The dead leaves fallen from an old maple tree scrape beneath him.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Pull it together!" He reaches for his glass, hands shaking harder than before, he drops the glass and it shatters on impact.

"God dammit." He mutters, "not again."

He slumps down along the wall of the house and the cement, grabbing at the handle of whiskey. He looks it over before taking a long bite from the bottle.

...

It's not a lot, it's not much of anything, but it's a scene from a dream I had. With that, I could build a short story around or leave it alone as that. That's the beauty of penning down all of your creative thoughts, you never quite know where the next one will take you.