I’m sitting here, updating my facebook status and very proudly stating how much I am looking forward to staying home tonight. And eventually the thought kicks in: when the Hel did I start looking forward to staying in at night instead of going out?!?!? How old am I?
Okay, sure, there’s the difference of having my own home that I adore rather than living at my parent’s place, that’s certainly a…what’s the opposite of deterent?…an incentive for staying home, or at least in a certain way a distinct invitation. But it’s not like when I moved in here I suddenly spent every night at home.
Have I gotten too old? I mean, I know I can’t drink the way I used to – on the up side, it takes very little to make me happy so there’s no need to. But I know I don’t like staying up until 4 in the morning, not as a rule anymore. Perhaps I am getting too old.
Or maybe it’s just the overwhelming busyness of the rest of living, having to be out and about and doing so very much of the time, that getting the opportunity to relax at home with a book or a movie and a cuddle (with cat or man, either way or preferably both) has become the unusual and therefore strongly appealing desire.
Or maybe I’m just trying to find excuses for turning into a fuddy duddy.
Sigh. It’s probably the last point. Where’s my cane?