The Cobble Hobble: It's a New Dance Step

I’m really liking the word “cobble” today. It conjures up little old men and shoes, bricks, putting things together, and rhymes with “hobble.”

Cobbling together jobs, friends, brain cells. It’s a daily process of amalgamation these days. I remember wistfully when none of that seemed so necessarily step-by-step. This is probably why I haven’t been blogging. Too much cobbling. One can’t always do both.

Aha! “All Things Considered” is running a piece on the lack of mental health workers for Iraqis, which vaguely ties into my thesis. A woman sobs in a barren hospital room. There are 20 psychiatrists in Baghdad, which has 6 million inhabitants. Sometimes it just seems like a matter of distribution of resources—who has, who doesn’t. Some people need to cobble more than others by necessity. Mental health just screws with that concept anyway…trying to piece together a life when one struggles with one’s sanity is just terrible. And so common.

Onward.