Brief History of Me

Did you hear the joke about the husband who got diagnosed with cancer, five days before the baby was born?

I didn't think it was very funny either.

The baby is now six months old; the husband is now officially off chemotherapy treatments; and the wife uses words and writing to keep those pesky nervous breakdowns at bay. Sometimes, it feels like my life has been one trauma after another. But I'm still here, eating chocolate and drinking coffee like I always do. Hi! (waves).

I'm 36. Still wear glasses, after all these years. Tori Amos songs speak directly to my soul. I got married. Have two beautiful sons, and I'm also a stepmother (usually not evil) to some amazing people. Live in a big, show-offy house in the Blue Mountains, but I secretly yearn to live back in Sydney again. Anyone who knew me in my twenties would think I was dead already. Surprisingly, I'm not. Hi! (waves).

Went to ten schools, I think. I lost count. My dads kept dying, providing a rich minefield of angst to draw upon when I need to. I am in recovery. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be young and beautiful and single, travelling the world with careless abandon. I think it was Huxley who said that it is human nature to take everything we have for granted.

I don't believe you can have no regrets ... I have MANY. However, I don't want to die regretting the things I didn't do.

Life is too short to be self conscious. We must get real - get to the bottom of things. In my late twenties I "woke up" ... and have been awake ever since.

Oh - and I write. When I was little, I would write poems and ditties for my grandparents. Nan would rave about them with so much pride .. she would look me in the eye and say "Eden! You are going to be a writer someday!" Inwardly, I would feel a thrill, and think to myself .. wow, a real, live writer.

That "someday" has come, and I am indeed a writer now. I write articles for magazines. I edit my husbands shopping lists. I'm looking at getting published sometime in the new year, a childrens book with wonderful paintings in it, that I wrote the text for. I still feel like a wanker, saying it .... who the hell do I think I am? Important or something!?