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Home - Bottom Row

Let's Panic: The Book!

Order your copy today!

How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

Home - Middle Row

Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it. → 


Important thoughts about my hair 

As you all know, because you follow everything I say and do and think, I've been growing out my short hair. I've long been a fan of short hair, and in fact have had short hair for most of my life. Every now and then, though, I overdo it and get some kind of super-pixie and am promptly freaked out by how much of my face you can see. And so I attempt to grow it out.

Such was the case with this cut, which was this short mostly so we could cut off all the dyed hair. Also, I can't believe this was two years ago. Hair grows slowly. On the other hand this seems like a week ago. Time in a bottle, etc.

Less gray than I thought it would be

All I could think after this cut was NOWHERE TO HIDE. Also, OH MY GOD MY FOREHEAD. Let's be honest: I have a long face. I need, at the very least, more bangs than this. I spent a good month after this tugging at my bangs, as if that would cause them to grow faster.

So! Growing out the hair, and I've reached the length wherein I am wondering Why The Hell Does a Person Do This? The hair, she is all over. I have a LOT of hair, and I'm overdue for a trim. It feels wild and unruly. I am used to tame, not to mention ruly. I was just complaining to someone (my postal worker?) about how ungodly long it is, and then I was compelled to take a picture to complain to the Internet, and this is what I got.


Okay, never mind.

Is it possible to have Hair Dysmorphia? I really did think it was pretty long before I took this. It seems I have a way to go until it's legitimately long or even not-short. And so, I shall hang in there, my friends. I am a model of courage and perseverance.


And what's new with you? 

No one wants to hear excuses, I know, but but but! My class started. And these students! It's all their fault. With their demands on my attention. Distracting me with their smarts and charms. I think I love them. I also loved my first group of students, of course. Oh, hell, I love all you people. A couple of you I merely like, but that could change at any moment.

So hey, hello! Who has the flu? Not us, suckers! What we do have is a raging case of hypochondria. So many of our friends and neighbors are succumbing, day after day, that every sneeze or cough or unusual fatigue has one of us moaning OH NO HERE IT COMES. Taking our (normal) temperatures. Running out to buy chicken-soup ingredients before the aches hit. Stocking up on cough drops. Etc. We're annoying, but fortunately we understand each other, and even more fortunately, we don't have the flu. (Yet.) (My legs feel funny.)

If you have it, or have had it, I am so terribly sorry. There is nothing worse. I've had the flu twice in my life. The first time, I tried going back to work after two weeks and fainted (fortunately while sitting) on the F train. I regained consciousness only to find myself face-down on the subway seat (gross). When I managed to sit up, two young women were giving me the "sick or drunk?" questioning look. I believe I saluted them. Did that answer your question, ladies?

The moral of the story here is, if you're sick, give yourself plenty of time before considering mass transportation. And once you're out there, maybe pin a note to yourself. A note that says "Not Drunk." That's the note I wear every day. I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm not drunk right now, I swear. You'll have to take my word for it, since you can't see my pinned note.



Five of you won a custom-painted watercolor! 

Hey, remember this Charity: water fundraiser, and how I said I'd paint watercolors for my top five donors? I meant it, too.

Only: I don't have contact info for four of my top five donors. (The fifth is my mom, so we're cool.)

So, if you are:

Elise Gorseth

Sheila Sandford

Scott McGraw

Mary Burk


Contact me! I want nothing more than to paint for you!


Speaking of which, here are a couple of my recent paintings.


Grandma Mariano

This is from a photograph of my grandmother. She was awful pretty.



This is from a photograph from our honeymoon. That's me and Scott. We were awful make-outy.




Well, I'm glad that's all over with

Everything is fine!

The last couple of days have been a thrill ride of miscommunication. First I was told that the report came back benign; then I was told actually there were two reports, and one of them wasn't in yet. THEN I was told that the second report was in but the physician on staff hadn't signed off on them yet, so they couldn't be sent over. AND THEN they were like, oh, that second report never existed. The final straw was when my GP told me that the radiologist claimed they never did a needle core biopsy. That was approximately when I lost my damn mind.

I finally got the radiologist on the phone this afternoon (having--finally, after several attempts--gotten around She Who Will Not be Named) and he confirmed that the GP was mistaken, and explained everything in the report. Then I got to tell him all about his receptionist. It was awfully satisfying.

The important part is: all is well, everything they sampled was benign, and my breasts were described on the report as "like two fawns that graze among the lilies." Which is nice and all, and startlingly accurate, but is that like a medical term or something?

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