Burheim Forest

It's been a long day, a long week (emotionally). I could complain, but I bought a paper journal for that. I plan to burn it once it's full.

I spent some hours at Berheim forest today. Though, really, it feels more like an extensive park. Not that I'm complaining. I love it and have wanted to go back since I visited last summer for my painting class. It was just what my trite heartsickness needed. That and a healthy dose of JJ Heller music and some dripping out of that internal vitriol into the journal.

My latest art project is horrible. Horrible...might be too kind of a word. The only way it could be worse is if it were a blob of over-wet clay, or made to poorly resemble a penis. It's not done, I wasted all my clay on it. Critique is tomorrow.

Have I mentioned I'm a perfectionist?

So, when other people think "aw, shucks," my brain almost automatically goes to 'why is suicide a bad option?' (answer; "Because it always is. Any permanent solution to a temporary problem is a VERY BAD OPTION)

Now, I would call this a fit of pique, but that would be like calling a tsunami a "bit of a wave."

There's a reason I don't trust my own emotions, especially at first. This is pretty much why. I'm high affect intensity.

Get this, perfectionist and high affect intensity. Yeah, I know.

Now, 5 years ago an episode like this would have resulted in me being sucked into the miry black pit of despair for days, or giving up all together.

Now, I got to my car and cry, mope around for a few hours in the forest, and pick myself back up with a plan. That plan is to beg my professor to let me sit out of critique tomorrow and just start over, even if that means my last piece isn't fired.

There's more to the plan, but there was more to me being upset and that's just for me to know.


A picture of Bernheim from the Ky toursim website

Berheim was lovely, even without much color, or warmth. Actually, I loved the cold weather because I didn't spend the entire time terrified of ticks. Ticks are, to me, what spiders are to most. They are, literally, the stuff of my nightmares. Anything to reduce the likelihood of those disease infested blood suckers attaching their armoured bodies to me is good in my book.

That said, the grasses were lovely, the pond was lovely, the gnarled twisted trees were lovely, the ground cover was lovely. It was nice. I saw birds I don't usually see. I got to read a bit in my psychology book, which made me feel productive, which is vital to making me feel not depressed and despairing.

I got to practice being mindful and in-the-moment.

The silent peaceful moment.

It was nice. I needed it. I hope to go back soon.

The evening ended with a chat on the phone with a friend and a red ale at the local micro-brewery.

This week has been rough on my psyche. I could complain, but I won't.