Linda Scribbles

Chugging along, like the little train that could

Tag: Mental Health

  • On the cusp of change

    Or hopefully I am, anyway.  (Thirty-three has yet to take me out! Would you look at that!) The recent efforts toward change in my life have made me reflective, the hour a strange kind of nostalgic for the almosts and life events missed. I’m thinking about all the ways I held back or was held…

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  • In which the rabbits are rather serious

    This is a draft I half started at the beginning of December and got too busy to finish. I’m continuing now. Fair warning: this is an absolute mess. I’m at work desperately trying to keep my brain on task rather than chasing all the thought rabbits there ever were. I’m hard pressed to feel motivated…

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  • Because I’m okay right now

    This was a comment I left on my friend’s post where she was reflecting on something I said in my previous post, but then I realized it really should have just been an answering blog post with my thoughts on her thoughts on a brief note in my jumbley thoughts. (I literally didn’t need to…

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  • In a fit of writing

    I haven’t worked too much on anything major, but I’m trying to be better about collecting the tiny things that keep piling up in my desk and my backpack and pockets.  (I’ve already sent at least one thing through the wash, though.)  Exhaustion and depression slammed me hard the last couple of days, and while…

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  • From a hotel, with love

    I finished things!  I FINISHED THINGS!  It’s been so uncommon for me to actually bring a story to an end in the last– well, you can look back at the posts.  I’m belatedly going a little bit into shock over this.  They’ve been done for a few days now.  Everything has been so bananas, though.  Whole…

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  • In which my brain is a jerk. It happens.

    I’ve been neglecting the blog again. (Are all my blog posts going to start like this from now on?) I’ve been neglecting writing in general. I’ve been neglecting everything, maybe. Being sick (nothing serious, probably just a bug), especially when you’re not sure what did it, apparently makes me disgustingly introspective. James brought me chicken…

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