August 14, 2019

Looking out my living room nook window, the motor’s arm to my automatic opening gate was hanging loose. The beans and eggs I scrambled didn’t satisfy my appetite, because an angered Monday morning drained all my energy. Quickly my world of words began to spin with the words I needed to type out – I had a book to re-write. As life was presented to me walking around my home, the thought of failure shadowed. I couldn’t shake it off.

Sleep deprived from the prior week of being sick, I was returning from below the equator and I still woke up early to work on book one. News about her dream maybe taking off a month sooner, I’d be left alone to fight the frustration. Hours before I had cried to her because I missed my dad. In much anticipation the world wouldn’t understand how much this book meant to me; I cried out the anxiety, falling on her lap in fear.

When she left the house that day, all I had was my puppy and the nasty eggs and beans. I knew I needed to nourish my body for the new writing fight. Three days earlier I had lost a 30,000+ word manuscript of book one. (Technicalities with FocusWriter)

Fucked my life…

Knowing I wouldn’t get the book done by spring like I told everyone, the case of The Mondays reached new heights. That morning, I was also recovering from a hangover – happy birthday cousin…

Moving along the day to write, I began to feel the world rotate beneath me. The success, the fear, the failure, and now a panic attack I can add to my story. Spinning between my eyes were the verbs, nouns, adjectives, and I couldn’t tell time. Maybe it was 15 minutes, 2 days, or we had jumped into 2023 where I’d met Jay-Z on book 11’s tour. My vivid imagination at the hands of my anxiety – I hadn’t felt this since college.

I text my friend Omari telling him, “I’m having a panic attack, but I’m good,” — I wasn’t. I called my mom in tears, “I miss dad, I’m having a panic attack,” and guilt soon followed when she told me she was enjoying life at the Ilani Casino. She didn’t say that, but I was embarrassed.

Truth be told, I simply needed a touch.

I walked to my bed. I remember not being able to comprehend what my phone was – or what the hell was plugged into my wall. Like an animal resting, my phone charger was simply a piece of plastic I would never learn to understand. My phone kept ringing – what is answering? Fearing the crazy house for the rest of my life, I picked up. Speaking to my sister she reminded me what happened. I thought I’d awaken from a dream.

I felt sick. I got up to walk around. With my puppy in her crate, I randomly decided to kneel on her bed as the vomit was coming up. On my knees and elbows, the bull shit worry emerged — I couldn’t believe where I was.

I looked up and out the window there were two police officers approaching my front door. I was pissed because they likely had broken my motor gate even more. But I had to act normal, so I answered.

“Hey, how are you sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied.

“Are you having any health or mental issues today?”

“Nope,” my puppy then ran out the front door with her tail tucked between her legs, “don’t mind her, she’s young and still learning stuff,” I said.

“OK, just checking on ya’ – your sister made a report and had some concerns,” seeing the officers walk away I envisioned I could’ve been cuffed, or in a strait jacket between them.

Seconds prior to them knocking on my door, I was kneeling on my puppy’s bed regurgitating the bullshit whirlwind of anxiety. Assuming they saw that, I thought for sure I wouldn’t be dogged a writer.

Losing my manuscript at 70% was painful. Having to start over on a once in a lifetime opportunity was not fun. But I did it. Through meditation and trusting the process I got book one done in a 65 day period; give or take a weekend, you get the picture why I’m late.

I wanted to send the Portland Police Department a ‘thank you’ for kicking me out the panic attack. As clockwork, they likely won’t remember me. But you as a reader, I’m the author who began writing this appreciation from my puppy’s bed 5 months ago.

-Budd (TK)

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... “The world around us is our vehicle, what you'll read is how I digest it.” -Budd

One Comment on “Writing Appreciation From Strange Places

  1. Pingback: How Dare I Run Portland Different |

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