On Saturday, the moment came; my last night out (for now, anyway). I'll get to that in a moment, but first I just have to tell you what a complete and utter wuss my cat is. Saturday morning I went to hang out the laundry, but the garden had several magpies flapping ominously about, so I decided to take Xander out with me to scare them away.
It certainly was scary...for Xander, who got within a metre of a magpie that weighed maybe half a kilo, let out a yelp of fear, and sprinted back into the house. Some knight in shining fur he is!
So what made me decide that there would be a "last night out"? I think I've just reached that stage. The Zelda Fitzgerald who vowed in 1998 to let the good times roll has now turned into a model of temperance. I'm just tired is all, and having fun isn't much fun anymore.
Anyway, it wasn't a bad night. It wasn't an especially good one either. I went to The Crypt, the club which has replaced Necro, solely because I wanted to catch up with a few people one more time. But there was all the attendant problems of uncomfortable chairs, loud music, and almost passing out on the bus home because there were no seats left and I was too dizzy to stand up (you'd think someone would have offred me a seat - I'm practically a senior citizen compared with most of the people returning from a night out at 4am).
But yesterday was what really confirmed that it's the right time to stop going out. I felt just awful, a wrethchedness that seemed out of all proportion to my only real sin of mixing drinks. I couldn't even enjoy the real estate guide in the paper, which for someone like me, is akin to a straight man being unable to ogle the bikini models in Ralph. Even after an early night last night I still feel a bit out of sorts today.
So I'm happy to pass the social baton on to a new generation. I've had my fun, but now I'm over it. Things in life are really changing, and I'm much too excited to miss waking suddenly to discover you're not in your own bed, but on a bench on Hunter St and the bus isn't due for another hour. In front of The Bill on a Saturday night with chai tea and Xander is all the social life I need!
I haven't been out in a LONG time. Reason? It's just not that fun anymore... I agree with you there.ReplyDelete
I used to go out all the time, esp. when I was in High School. I was at every party weekend there was from 1995-1999. Then when I turned 18 I went to pubs & clubs - Then it started to get boring when I was about 20-21.
Now I stay at home with my boyfriend, or we have a small social gathering at his place. I prefer that anyway :)
Yeah, I'd much rather go out to dinner with friends, than do anything else on a Saturday night.ReplyDelete
Half a kilo magpie....and I'd probably be running too!!!ReplyDelete
I picked some of my old toys up several years ago and tried to think if I could replicate the hours of fun I used to get from them. Sadly, alas. Growing up is a natural part of life and something to be welcomed. It is really fear of the unknown which prevents us from changing out lifestlye.ReplyDelete
All those folks who sob over lost youth have it wrong. Let it go - Being young isn't so fantastic anyway.
I'm terrified of any magpie!ReplyDelete
Well, younger friends sometimes say to me "You're not that old", which I find pretty annoying. Because they can't understand that if I am, it doesn't matter anymore. I don't have the same interests, priorities or values I did at 21. I don't want to be young. I'm sick of youth-obssessed culture. I'll celebrate my cardigans!
To all things there is a time. Let the young be young, the old be old and the inbetweenies be frustrated :)ReplyDelete
You have wisdom beyond your years my new friend.
*Blushes* That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me since...well I think ever, as far back as I can remember, which isn't very far.ReplyDelete
Hmmm, you know, losing one's memory is a sign of old age ;)ReplyDelete
It's my pleasure. Keep in touch.
:) I am looking forward to reading about your 2996 tribute. This is a great project, I wish I could have been involved!ReplyDelete