As the little pills rolled into my open palm the other morning, I stared at them for a moment and thought, “are these things keeping me alive?”

It was then I realized I had finally gotten old. No, I don’t mean the grandfatherly, humped-shoulder, carry-the-prodding-cane-type old. I had reached the mythical, elusive middle-aged years that all my older friends had been telling me about.

Older friends … wait a moment, I don’t have that many older friends left. Much to my chagrin, when I find myself in a group, I am noticeably the oldest one. Could this be just a coincidence? Have I somehow missed the

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