Furibundum

How I started Friday's post the other day, supposing that I "must be mentally retarded" turns out to be truer than I had really meant it at the time. Here's the deal, thanks to a quickwitted reader pointing it out to me... I am not forty-eight after all. Which might explain why I seemed so perplexed the other day about how that had not occurred to me yet, because literally it has not occurred to me yet. God only knows how mathematically-astute Erika remembered from whatever or whenever long ago it was that this trivia might have come up, but she's right; I was born November 1962, just now over forty- seven years ago. I really have nothing to say for myself about that, particularly since I spent most of my professional career diddling and dawdling with numbers. It's embarrassing. I also said in the same post that "I'm not that retarded as everyone celebrating 2010 as the start of a new decade still nearly a year away." I stand corrected abou...

I suppose because I must be mentally retarded that it only occurred to me today that I am actually forty-eight years old. The birthday was a couple of months ago but it really meant nothing to me at the time. I've had several forty-something birthdays already, I guess I just was thinking they would go on forever but really... forty-eight? Late this year I'll have my final one beginning the last year of the fourth decade of my time on the planet, starting my fiftieth year which is a very disturbing thought. I know I'll still have another year after that before it ends, it's not like I'm thinking this year's birthday ends the run; I'm not that retarded as everyone celebrating 2010 as the start of a new decade still nearly a year away . But psychologically, the thought of the five-oh closing in gives me the willies. As absurd now as it seems, my twenty-fifth birthday bugged me for some reason about getting older, and I've nearly doubled that already. In no...