Dear Diary...

Now for something completely different...
I honestly don't know what I have for regular readers. I know of three for certain. I don't get lots of traffic, maybe 40 - 50 folks a day stop by.
Some of you may have noticed some up-again-down-again weirdness in what I write and what I write about. I hate feeling incoherent and think that maybe some full disclosure will, at least, provide some insight into the randomness.
I've been doing the knife thing for eight years now and it stands as the single most successful thing I've pulled of in my time. I'll get to that in a little bit.
I don't want to come off as a whiner, especially since virtually all of my difficulties in life have been my own doing, but very little in my life has worked.
I graduated high-school with a cumulative GPA of 1.65. That enviable, high "D" was averaged out of four years worth of grades, none of which was an "F". I used to take a certain pride in being so dedicated to under-achieving. I was in college before I got my first "F". College, where I've been four separate times. Each time I'd make the dean's list and run a GPA of 3.8 or so - for the first two terms. I'd then lose my ability to focus. then I'd bail.
Over the course my working life, 38 years, I've had 40 to 50 "work situations". I don't say "jobs" because some were gyppo, remodeling projects and the like. My four years in the Navy however, only counts as one of them - as does the current knife biz.
I've never had an ability to get and hold a job in any conventional sense. Rarely was anyone dissatisfied with my performance. They were always disappointed when I quit - which I always did. There was always someone or something that, over time, made it intolerable. Call me a malcontent. I won't be insulted. It's not like I like being this way.
Anyway time marched on and I found myself in my forties and still qualified for entry-level jobs - except in construction which is one of the most vulnerable industries in economic tough times.
The short version - and I've alluded to this in the past, usually on the heels of making some sort of jackass of myself - is that I have a mental problem.
I'd like to be more specific but I also have a fiscal problem - one that precludes my going to a "Mental Health Professional" to find out what the hell is wrong. No job = no insurance. No money = the same.
I've been planning to go to the VA for a diagnosis but, since my problem isn't service connected - and I therefore feel any VA services would be undeserved - and it's not like the VA isn't going to have its hands full for the next thirty years of so - I've been reluctant.
Ten years ago, I had my last "pay check" job. I lasted two months. One more month and I would have been hired permanently and gotten insurance.
Quit - but I quit with a plan at least.
I borrowed some money and put it into rehabbing my old shitbox of a house and did pretty well. Used the proceeds to get my contractor's license.
Then I partnered up with my son in doing another house and it fell apart. Isaac lost several tens of thousands of dollars. I lost a year of my life and my mind.
That's a bit dramatic but I did fall apart. A trip to the emergency room and some massive tranquilizers, mandatory counseling and my introduction to the wonderful world of psychiatric meds.
During my recovery period, when I wasn't taking three-hours naps every day I did some therapeutic work. I built boxes for all my power tools, built a new work bench and did some other stuff I've wanted to do for a long time.

Like build a panel-raiser. The plane-making thing is how I got into knives and now, here I am.
This has worked really well for me because my contact with people is limited and I can work at my own pace. Yay.
However, the free clinic where my prescriptions are written has undergone some sort of administrative change so I've been unable to get an appointment lately, the end result being, I've been off my meds for a month or so now.
I've kind of been allowing it to go on just as a test drive of the old, un-medicated me and it seems to be going okay. No thoughts of suicide or homicide. It makes me random though - and socially inept. Of course, those are conditions that the meds never completely eliminated, just moderated. I wax insulting and dismissive either way - and my work habits are erratic either way. It's just worse right now.
Which I guess leads me to my thesis statement:
I believe that I must have the most patient customers on earth. I can understand people buying my stuff. It's pretty cool if I do say so myself. But, the fact that I have so many repeat customers leads me to feel that I must be doing something right but I don't think that being anti-social and slower than Christmas is it.
To everyone who has faithfully sent me money in expectation of a knife, thank you. It's not just the money though. To everyone who writes and tells how cool my knives are but doesn't buy them, thanks to you just the same.
To all and sundry (and there are many) that I've insulted, I'm sorry.
I'm still kind of figuring this out and I appreciate the friendship of those who've stuck with me.

PS Masthead photo: Did you ever wonder what an A10 would look like without its airplane - parked next to a beetle?