• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
For the clinically depressed, the term Dress For Success means simply: anything more than just underwear.
Mostly, I’m depressed because I’ve realized that I’m a person who gets depressed.
“There is no world record for being depressed,” the doctor told Bob, “so you might as well just stop looking forward to that right here and now.”
“It’s all in vain,” Bob was heard muttering just before he asked the bartender for another beer.
There are a lot of things about depression that I hate, thought Bob, but the one that really pisses me off is the way gravity increases about 25%.
“Since I’m made in his image, that means he’s a depressed, underachieving, balding, middle-aged white guy going soft around the middle,” Bob said to his beer, “That explains a lot.”
How do I even begin a letter such as this one, filled, if my fears prove correct, with more heartache and depression, more loneliness, longing, emptiness, and anguish over mistakes…
If you look up the word “dejection” in the dictionary, you will find that depression is crap.
Removing the ladders from the board game Chutes and Ladders then attempting to play it alone leads to depression, weeping, and suicidal ideation…I’ve heard.
Rockabilly is prozac administered aurally - a sure cure for most common forms of depression.
Stephen and I once had a running competition about funny ways we could express our depression; he won by answering the phone one day, “I just took my head out of the toilet long enough to say hello.”
The worst thing about education, like the worst thing about depression, is the lack of linearity: at any moment, no matter how much forward motion you have achieved, you can find yourself in a place where you haven’t made any progress at all, and when that happens, it is terrifically difficult to pull yourself up off the floor.
Some of us (you know who you are) have access to doctors and psychiatrists and designer drugs; some of us have to self-medicate with chocolate.
“I’m SOOOO depressed, I just want to DIE!” wailed the young woman just moments before Little Bear bounded across the meadow toward her and she promptly peed her pants and ran for her life.
Some days it feels like I’m stuck in a world of peanut butter.
Is it so sad that I never have a happy Scrine to post?
I would like to propose we change the old definition that “a recession is when your neighbor loses his job and a depression is when you lose your job” to “a recession is when there’s no longer a 45-minute line at ‘mouse’s favorite restaurant and a depression is when 40% of the tables are empty on a Friday night.”
An anonymous lurker that occasionally stops by my blog advised me this afternoon that I was simply nothing more than “a detestable soul filled with existential nilhism,” and at first I felt a little numb not knowing what to think, but now all I have to say is, “Myeh.”
Depression and alcoholism are the best of friends.
The fact that chocolate lately gives me no special joy must indicate either that I'm extremely depressed or not depressed at all.
As a child I waited impatiently for puberty, a driver's license, a car, emancipation, college; as a college student I waited impatiently for a job, money, drinking age, car rental age, self-determination; as an adult I wait for pets to die, children to grow up and leave home, inevitable accidents and illness, ever-more-infrequent moments of joy; as I stare at 50, I wonder what it is that am I waiting for?
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