I'd jump for joy but I'm afraid I'd break a hip

Hot on the smoldering heels of Tuesday's news reports of a study from U. of Michigan (previously blogged hyah) claiming that people get happier than they think or than anyone else thinks they do as they age, comes a story in today's Sun-Times, with the merry tidings that ages 38 to 55 (aka, "midlife") are, like, the best, and all that kinda stuff. Kick ass! I just got started! So far, I have to say it kinda doesn't live up to the advertising, but then I just learned the other day that I don't know whether (or when or why or how or ... who) I'm happy anyway, so you can't go by me. Seriously. Don't go by me. Keep your distance. I'm feeling reclusive. Definitely call first, or even better, email. Yes, I'm feeling reclusive, but also grateful that I'm only a little over half a year into the awesomest goddamn fantastic phase of my fucking marvelous life. Who's for beer? Fuck yeah!