My mom told me that before I could walk I would crawl the floors with a screwdriver undoing the bottom door hinges.  Writing this, I wonder:  When did I learn lefty-loosey?  How did I get a screwdriver and, after it happened the first time why didn't they hide the screwdriver better, maybe put it in the top drawer?  But it makes sense, my mom wasn't a hide the screwdriver type.  She was an artist. 

I see my function as trying to reconcile this screwdriver/mechanical nature with my artistic/creative nurture.  The course of my life is the attempts at integration of these me's.  Some attempts at making this uni-me have been drumming, movie-making, fixing (electronics, houses, everything), fiction writing, and this lamp and clock building.