It's my birthday today and so far I feel pretty good about it. M. served me doughnuts ad coffee and milk in bed on a special little tray that he had built himself especially for the purpose. Later, we're going out to dinner with the in-laws. I may get dressed up for this or I may not--the style in Western Colorado is pretty casual, even when you're going someplace fancy, which we're not.
I'm 46 today, which I suppose should kind of freak me out, putting me closer to 50 than 40. But I find that every passing year I feel younger. Just this morning a Facebook friend who knew me in High School commented that I don't look any different than I did in 1980. Well, I do; for one thing, I weigh about 70 lbs more than I did the last time she laid eyes on me, back in those days of severe Anorexia Nervosa. And my hair is greying, and I haven't dyed it in a year, which I long to do (but don't on the advice of my disability lawyer). But I have good skin and no wrinkles, and come from a line of long-lived people. Besides, I have great taste in clothes. I should do all right for some time yet. As far as looks, that is.
As far as health, I don't know. I still smoke despite numerous attempts to quit. And I don't get any exercise at all these days due to my anxiety and depression. So my overall health can't be too good. I worry about it anyhow. Still, I eat healthy and drink a lot of water (which probably contributes to the good skin). I don't drink alcohol and that's probably a plus. And my dad, who got even less activity than I and was never treated for his ongoing depression still made it past eighty-four. So I probably have a good few years yet.
So, Happy Birthday To Me and Many Happy Returns off the Day.