Typing With One Hand

When I was three-years-old, I was diagnosed with two strokes that were the byproducts of three hereditary brain tumors. The removal of the tumors resulted in a lack of fine motor skills in my left hand (known as “the Shaky Left Hand”) and an inelegant gait. The book opens with my first day at the catholic school that provided me with a hatred for my first name, a fear of sexual urges and a belief in atheism. In high school I was nameless and studious. Will I be tempted to drink at my first party? Will the school ruffian break me after the Shaky Left Hand accidentally grabbed his girlfriend's butt? Will my testicle untwist itself in time for the dance? The fall after graduation, I was coaxed into living in a dingy apartment in Detroit where I studied theater in college. After two semesters spent doing my roommates’ dishes and imitating animals for my major, I moved back home. Then, I had my first drug experience and got my life on a confident track. (These two events were unrelated.)