I just turned forty. Or, as my Dad likes to say, "I'm now living my forty-first year." Because my crazy is genetic.

And ... nothing. No mid-life crisis. No hormonal mood swings bemoaning my lack of youth.  My thirties were overly dramatic, so maybe my forties will be the calm before my existential crisis? One can only hope.

I didn't get carded at my birthday dinner. Old age sucks, man.