Why My Dad Is The Coolest Dad Ever (By Whitney, Age 27)

I'm lucky enough to have a pretty cool dad.

This is he, with Moochie The Best Horse Ever. And a great shot of my farrier's butt.

Our Father has always been a very involved dad. As he was taught by his father, he taught my brother and I as much as he could about building things, working hard to maintain what you have, and driving like a champion.

Dad prizes the ability to be self-sufficient. We never had AAA whilst growing up-- if the car broke down, we called 'Triple Dad'. He has done almost all the renovation to their 1970's two-story brick home, and that which he didn't do was because my mother forbid him.

Read on and I'll tell you some funny anecdotes and impressive feats of Daddery. There might be some car talk, just warning you.

DIY, Design, and Life with a Mental Illness as discussed by a Woman of Sanity

First of all, I’m making this blog because I am doing HELLA amounts of work on this damned apartment and I’ll be pissed if nobody sees it.

Secondly I’m making this blog because I promised my bee-eff-eff Jill of Vanity and Sloth that I would help her with her blog CSS layout and UI and such. Which means that the best way to do it is to putz with my own. 

Thirdly I'm making this blog because I am freshly unemployed, just moved into a new apartment back in the town I grew up in (ugh), getting used to a new sleep schedule due to my fiance's new 3rd shift job, and damn it I need a valid coping mechanism other than eating everything in sight.

Here's thing one about me: I do a little bit of cussing, and I say a few off-color things. Everybody does. Please try very hard not to be offended. 

I will not discuss religion or matters of the spirit. I feel that everyone has their own personal journey with the existence (or not) of a higher power, and I prefer to keep mine to myself.

I feel like this is going to be a post full of caveats. 

I'm sorry I'm so defensive. As a person with a mental illness, I'm quite used to a certain unspoken stigma. I can't blame people who look at me as if I'm going to swoon or try to swallow every pill in sight.

For a very long time, my own brain rebelled against me, and I couldn't trust it at all. Although I am now going on my like, second full year of remission, every day is full of watchfulness, every emotion analyzed and recorded carefully. 

So it is. I watch myself with suspicion, so I cannot very well blame anybody else for watching me with the same suspicion. 

But this isn't going to be a blog about my illness, although it will make some appearances. It's part of my life now, but there are so many parts of my life that I can't let the illness be a star performer. 

I spent ten years of my life in a gray, silent, static limbo. I was in the business of existing and hurting. Now I am in the business of living and creating.

Tally-ho.