Always on this line. (Part one.)
This entry's title is named after a song by Sarah Blasko, a ghostly Australian singer-songwriter that I discovered through Last.fm around a month ago and have not stopped listening to since. I thought it fitting considering the patterns of my life recently, most notably my continuing habits. The details of those will be touched upon soon enough. (My other musical discoveries of late, just in case you're curious, include Rachael Yamagata, and Rachel Unthank & The Winterset, a Northumberland folk quartet I researched after hearing Chris Walla's recommendation of them in a session for the Daily Telegraph on YouTube. I suggest you check them out if you haven't heard them already!)

At some uncertain point over the last seven weeks, I decided that, if/when I eventually publish my writing, it will be under the nom de plume of Topher J. Ogden. I have to admit it was unexpected, as I had never previously considered writing under any name other than the predictable Christopher Ogden, but it emerged from an unusually potent bout of desire for individuality. Indeed, my selection of that representation in particular was partly due to my instinctive attraction towards it (Topher is after all the less common half of my Christian name) and partly the result of seeing which variant of my full name brought up the least hits in Google!). I've yet to use the persona, but it will strictly remain a 'work name'; Chris is how I've always been called by friends and family, and consequently I've become quite used to it!

Somewhat relatedly, I have been debating again recently whether to create a new blog... Not to erase what I've already written here, obviously, but either to abandon this journal and start something from scratch as a spiritual continuation or run something else alongside it. After all, this page has served me well for nearly four and a half years now, and it's been clear for quite a while that I need to rediscover some enthusiasm for what I'm doing, as writing here, or anywhere for that matter, noting the mere events of my day, has been treated somewhat like a chore rather than the joy it should be. My attempts to keep track of everything I do in bulk in order to eventually recount them here (due to the long lapses between my updates this year) have become extremely tiring. It would be much more tolerable if entries were more often!

I mentioned in my previous entry the realisation of my perfectionism and procrastination issues; my inactivity in beginning to resolve those made the second half of the autumn semester extremely difficult. In the second round of essays in December, only my Medieval essay (which I actually enjoyed) was handed in on Thursday December 11th, the day everything was due and the one which should have technically been the end of my semester. Following a discussion with Andrea, my Poetry tutor, on the Monday of that week (the 8th), I was given a week's extension. My Modernist essay, however, was an absolute shambles, as I only managed to start it the night before. Finding myself too stressed to work overnight (again), like many of my friends were doing, after way too much caffeine (again), and knowing it was much too late to ask for another extension, I spoke with my friend Jodie, from the CWS, who calmed me down until 7am when I resolved to email Madhu, my Modernism tutor, and Stephen Benson, the organiser of the module who taught me for Reading Texts last year, telling them the essay would not be to my usual standard.

My intention was to sleep for a few hours, write as much as possible to hand in and hope for the best. Since the trauma of the first round of essays and the late night U.S. election, my sleep pattern had been (and still is) stuck around 4am to 12pm - hardly practical, and definitely exhausting. This meant I woke up on Thursday FIFTEEN minutes before the deadline for both my Medieval and Modernism essays to be handed in, after which marks would be lost. After much scrambling, Gemma thankfully drove me to campus as I hoped to at least have my Medieval essay in on time. It was a few minutes late, but Tom later told me it would not be a problem. Returning home, I decided I had had enough, and, under Becky Harris' advice, emailed my Modernism tutors, my Advisor at the university, and the Mental Health co-ordinator spilling all.

I have begun to organise my reception of counselling from UEA come my return to Norwich in January. Ever since I started feeling pressurised with the expectation of success five years ago, work has been progressively difficult. It has now reached the point where these neuroses are having a genuine impact on my ability to do so. I have decided I can no longer afford to be passive-aggressive, irrational in my attempts to ignore these problems in hope they will resolve by themselves, and must confront them directly. It is perhaps remarkable that I have never turned to coping mechanisms such as alcoholism, drugs or self-harm like other friends have unfortunately done before in reaction to strong adversity. I am grateful for my obsessive intelligence, my ability to articulate myself and rationalise more skilfully than most; although existential crisis may always be in my mind as a consequence, I am also provided with a reasonably solid defence against it. I am determined never to give in.

That hardly means for certain that I can survive alone though; Charlotte and I made ourselves official on the 27th of November and have remained as strong as ever. Once my poetry was finally handed in on Monday 15th and I was able to leave Norwich for Christmas, I took a train to Thornaby to visit her at Stephenson College for a few days. Although I still had Modernism to worry about until the Friday, when I returned back to Manchester, having her there made the whole ordeal a lot more bearable. I'm just glad it's over. Of course, now I have to start reading for Ninteenth-Century Writing, but that isn't at all as stressful.

Charlotte arrives in Manchester in less than two hours to stay with me during the New Year. I have ice skating beneath Swinton Town Hall on New Year's Eve and a trip to London to watch Chelsea play Southend planned over the next few days. I have to get ready! There's still a lot of trivia for me to talk about (in less detail than I have; otherwise, it would take days!), but that can wait until later.

I also realise that I promised poetry a few days after my last entry which was not delivered. To compensate, when I've finished catching up with events, I'll upload all of the poetry I've written for coursework since September. This place needs some art to adorn its walls.