Eden M. Kennedy

you've come to the right place

Eden M. Kennedy is the co-author (with Alice Bradley) of the book Let's Panic About Babies! (St. Martin's Press, 2011).

A former college-radio DJ, Mrs. Kennedy has driven cross-country six times in a Volkswagen Bug and enjoys standing on her head.

Currently she works at a public library and is finishing writing her first novel.

One nice thing about new paint on the walls is that all the crap we had previously nailed up is down on the floor -- paintings, posters, photos . . . even the curtains are balled up in garbage bags. (So if you know where we live and would like to get a glimpse of us doing whatever in the altogether, bust out the binoculars, now's your chance.) Some of it may go back up, some of it may just go. The walls are so beautiful right now we're afraid to spoil them.

One nice thing about traveling, being with family, and living out of a suitcase for three weeks* is that I forgot to have any of the symptoms of the deadly disease of which I'm probably dying. It wasn't until I was standing in the shower this morning that I remembered to notice how weak my left arm hasn't been, and how fine my left leg has felt. Which is interesting. Though my (dare I say previous) symptoms were real, I certainly question their source right now (and that ditz of a doctor still hasn't sent me a copy of my lab results). I'm even feeling pretty goddamned cheerful at the moment, and wonder if I'm just neurotic, and if a certain amount of my neurosis isn't just due to dull isolation. I never thought I'd say it, but I miss my stupid family. I spent so long hating them and trying to get out from under their stifling control that I forgot to realize that we'd all grown up and that things had changed. I don't really know why I don't have any friends in this town, maybe I've clung too hard to my old friends who live in other places, maybe it just gets harder to make new friends as you get older, maybe I'm just a social klutz. Whatever my problem is, I need to deal with it, because free-floating anxiety is no substitute for going shoe shopping with your best pal who hates to shop just as much as you do.

I realize that this is just another pathetic post, and that I seem to have a well-developed and strange need to evoke sympathy. If you really care, please write a comment that totally kicks my ass.

*This is a lie, I unpack completely in hotels and other people's houses, I put everything away in drawers, even if I'm only there for one night. I almost never leave things behind, either, although I lost an expensive dental appliance during our three-night luxury hiatus at the Montecito Inn last week and I'm pretty pissed about having to replace it.