Yeah, I'm not sure if it is because I work really long hours during the week (on average I work about 13 hours a day) or if it is just because I am getting more and more and more restless in my old age in general but lately I tend to pack a whole lot of stuff into my weekends. And by "pack a lot of stuff" I really just mean "I drink to excess and that has to stop."
One of the odder things that happened over the weekend was that, as I made my way into one of my local bars, I saw a guy that I had chatted with through an online dating site a long time ago. It was a chat that went nowhere of course but seeing him out, taking shots at 2am was both a little pathetic and also it was a little like seeing an E list celebrity. And it resulted in me wanting to go home immediately. Because I was out at 2am when at this stage in my life there are about a zillion other things I should be doing at 2am. I am too old to be out that late. I reminded myself of a story my friend Lauren told me awhile ago when a bouncer called her and her roommate "dirty stay outs" because they innocently asked him what time the bar closed. That's what I felt like. A dirty stay out. I had, earlier in the evening, had a lovely dinner with some lovely people. I had great conversation and good food and good company. Yet when I got home I just kept thinking in that compulsive way I get sometimes "go out go out go out." Nevermind that I had just been out. I had just spent time with other people after working all day.
When I am sitting at home with nothing to do and I'm wired and awake and all I want to do is talk to someone, I feel too young to be at home at 2am on a Saturday night. It is really just the most ridiculous thing. I have always been a restless sort but in the past year, my restlessness has reached a pinnacle. I'm not going to suggest that the approaching big birthday on the horizon in four years and my equating said big birthday with the end of my youth and the thin borderline of wandering the streets of an early, early morning (or late, late night) being totally unacceptable and sad will be crossed right after that big birthday and I am certainly not suggesting that seeking out the company of a room of random drunk strangers is somehow fulfilling this vacant spot in my otherwise content life and that that fact acts a springboard when 11pm rolls around and I walk out into the uncertain dark night of small town nightlife. Nope, I'm not going to sit here and suggest that any of that is true. And you can't make me.