In 2015, I went ass over teakettle down concrete stairs in Iceland. Smashed my head (#16), broke my left arm and wrist and broke my pelvis in two places. I made the EMTs laugh so hard they could hardly get the morphine into my arm. My nurse and I were telling body fluid jokes while I drooled on the floor from 8 grams of morphine. We were in hysterics. When she was pushing me down the aisle to my room she told me I wasn't allowed to leave, I was making them laugh too hard. I was 62. In six weeks I was back on a horse. This remains one of THE funniest accidents I have ever had. And I am back on a horse fast because I know how to make fun of myself, my pain, my life, and am not the slightest bit afraid of screaming PENIS down the hallway. That's my kind of woman. You can laugh at what life throws at you or you can lug your anger and bitterness about the loss of youth around and paint an uncaring world with your resentment. Consider the goddamned options. We don't win this particular war. But I most assuredly win all the battles between now and my due date when I find humor in the day to day. That's a goddamned super power. Laughter heals. Laughter soothes. Laughter keeps us youthful. If we can't see the comedy around us, we are crap for company. That's why so many old folks end up alone. Thanks for this, Carol.