In 2017 the amazing Loft 112’s Loft on Eight Press printed my non-fiction creative essay “Just A Walk”. We had a great reading in December of that year! Now you can buy the chap-book from me directly for a cool $5. Contact me directly through this website, or you can just email me for either a digital copy or a printed copy. Here’s the cover and a short excerpt: it’s all about walking and recovery from mental illness.
“It could be one of those funny articles you write. Or a poem. But it has to be what works for you in recovery from alcohol abuse, on staying present. And under 5,000 words,” He said.
I walk, I said. A lot.
“Walking. Like meditational, like those buddhists monks do?”
No. I just walk. Like my life depends on it.
“So meditation in every step.”
No, more like dragons with five heads are chasing me.
“Ummm…yeah. Maybe put in something writerly. Like it inspires you to write your poems, or that stuff. Artist walks, one with the universe thing, inspired creative. Walking.”
I’m one with the sidewalk when I trip. That’s about it for the universe.
“Cool. Need it by Wednesday.”
I’ll do my best.
Today I am doing my best. Saturday morning is a good morning with Dan, my lovely man. Also yummy food, hot coffee and my exercises. Doing good. A mistake is made: I flip out of my NOW and into now. The small lettered, pettiness and self loathing now. I read my email. Nothing is worse than social media to take you out of the happy morning. I see the short list for people for awards, their writing and existence in art being validated. It triggers. You are useless and no one cares what you have to say. You are a crap writer.
No amount of hot beverage can make me swallow this fear, depression and anxiety down. That’s when the feeling comes from to have a drink. The calm that would be here now, immediate and peaceful. Amber waves down a thankful throat, and then the closing of the eyes as it all passes down to my toes. The sting of good barley in my nose. If only I could have a drink, then the fears and sad thoughts would be gone. And the now would be the past, all present in one empty glass.