I didn't even make it into the high school yearbook. People who cringe at life don't make much headway. Was this the result of nature of nurture? I shied away from nature in all its forms (vegetable, mineral, animal—human above all), so this no doubt implicates both: nature and nurture. I can probably summarize my upbringing with the name Jeremy often substituted for Mute: Fucktardo. The old family homestead consisted of a kitchen, one and a half bathrooms, dining and living rooms, a semi-enclosed back porch (I'm being kind to the rent-ridden metal screen easily penetrated by mosquitoes and other bloodsucking fauna)—and three bedrooms. Three bedrooms for one man. In many places this would be considered overbearing luxury, but the three-quarters-empty mansions on River Road sop up any excess guilt I might impose on myself. The rich have their uses. To be the only one left in the house I grew up in opened all sorts of doors to the psyche. When I'm feeling like myself—which, oddly enough, isn't often—I sleep in my old bedroom.
