Another Exciting Day

I promised the Gentle Reader that I would update every day; it is now 12.25 a.m. on Sunday morning, but I think we can get away with calling it Saturday, so this is Saturday's update. Again I woke early, and got up I think just before 7. I had breakfast just before 8, and then it was Citalopram Tablet Number 2. I still wonder whether citalopram ought to be illegal, but the side-effects should only last a fortnight or thereabouts. The extreme highs are nice; but I am inclined to think that the extreme low of this evening was not caused merely by external circumstances, though it is doubtful whether being stabbed in the heart by a cutting comment can have helped me very much. But never mind that.
Anyway, the day before the evening was extremely pleasant, and the extremely low spirits I was in this evening were not too much of a price to pay for such a wonderful day before that. I say wonderful, though setting the alarm off in Father Tony's toilet instead of putting the light on was perhaps not one of my finest moments. But it is dark in that room without a light on, and the first thing you find is the cord. Hearing Mass was quite a consolation this morning as in my experience so far it always has been.
I went to Newcastle with CathSoc, or some of CathSoc, and we went to the cathedral bookshop, where I bought a selection of things by Cardinal Newman, who has been a tremendous influence on my life. I shall quote a poem that is in that book at the end of this entry. We went to the Baltic; George did a lot of photographing and videoing, and no doubt this will all appear on the Internet at some point, so you can see Extremely Happy David. (My medication seems to have been giving me tremendous highs as well as an unfortunate extreme low this evening, which I have to attribute in part to the medication. I would not ordinarily be as miserable as I was this evening, though I suppose the circumstances are not ordinary. I can attribute everything, good or bad, to the citalopram, and so absolve myself from all responsibility for any and every action whatsoever. It is wonderful.
We also went to the Catholic Chaplaincy of Newcastle University, where we met Father Downie, the Catholic Chaplain. I played the piano unusually well for myself. I played the third movement of the Moonlight Sonata, Liebestraum Number 3, and "the Entertainer." Actually one person began "The Entertainer," another continued it, and I finished it.
We saw "A Muppet's Christmas Carol" this evening at the Chaplaincy. I was feeling rather miserable at first, but managed eventually to get into the film in spite of the agony that I was experiencing, not only mental but also in my stomach. (I don't think cutting comments cause stomach pains in the ordinary course of human experience.) I really enjoyed the songs which managed to lessen the pain somewhat. Therapeutic effect of music and all that. Ah, but that reminds me of my music therapy essay, which is due in on WEDNESDAY. Oh, let us not think of such things. One moment at a time. That is the only way to live.
Unfortunately towards the end of the evening, I began to feel rather dejected, and I returned back to Collingwood with my excellent friend Tom Carson, who has been very kind and complimentary. I am very grateful to God for all my friends. I make no apology for quoting this:

For no one, in our long decline,
So dusty, spiteful, and divided,
Had quite such pleasant friends as mine,
Or loved them half as much as I did.

Since Saturday is now over, so is this extraordinary and frankly difficult week. I said I conclude with a poem from the book, and so here it is:

DESOLATION.

O, SAY not thou art left of God,
Because His tokens in the sky
Thou canst not read; this earth He trod
To teach thee He was ever nigh.

He sees, beneath the fig tree green,
Nathaniel con his sacred lore;
Shouldst thou thy chamber seek, unseen
He enters through the unopen'd door.

And when thou liest, by slumber bound,
Outwearied in the Christian fight,
In glory, girt with Saints around,
He stands above thee through the night.

When friends to Emmaus bend their course,
He joins, although He holds their eyes;
Or, shouldst thou feel some fever's force,
He takes thy hand, He bids thee rise.

Or on a voyage, when calms prevail,
And prison thee upon the sea,
He walks the wave, He wings the sail,
The shore is gain'd, and thou art free.

(Cardinal Newman, 18th June, 1833.)