My husband has been on disability for depression for two years, and receiving shock treatments because medication hasn't helped (and he's tried them all). That's hard on both of us (because of the resultant memory loss he suffers), and it doesn't even work that well-- it's better than nothing, but not as effective as it is for most people. He's also currently battling cancer in his leg, and is halfway through fairly punishing chemo treatments. Results are looking great so far, but it makes him very sick.
Now to the point. My birthday is next Monday, and if you've been around awhile, you might also remember me lamenting last year about how turning 46 felt so hopelessly old, like it was a downward slide to 50 from there.
I visited my hairdresser today, who is pretty much the same age I am. After some discussion, and several rounds of math-checking, it turns out that I will be turning 46 on Monday. I'm actually 45 now.
How in the HELL did I skip a year? I don't even know which one it was, except that it wasn't 42 (helloooo Douglas Adams), and probably not 44 either (X*11 birthdays always call attention to themselves).
I'm stymied. What's more, I'm pretty sure one of my sisters-in-law did this to herself around this same age. God, maybe it's the early harbinger of senility. :0