Old Age

I've had a strange realisation lately... that I'm old.

It's not because I've officially entered middle age*, although I have. And it's not because I've stopped slowly covering my entire body with tattoos or chasing commitment-phobic twenty-something men, because I definitely haven't.

It's because I don't find it fun to binge drink for the sake of binge drinking anymore.

I do enjoy drinking a whole lot in one sitting.
And bar hopping.
And getting to such a ridiculous state with my friends that I laugh half the next day away looking at all the tweets and photos about it.

But that's not enough. I want a good craft cocktail in my hand while I'm doing it. Or a bloody mary, or a beer, if that's what fits the situation. I want quality over quantity. Even at home, I make a nice martini after work. Sitting at a bar with a way-too-stiff vodka soda just doesn't do it for me anymore.

The experience is what I want, not only the crazy drunken result.

And when I look around, I can see that this makes me old.

Or really bourgie. But I'm pretty sure it's old.


*Seriously, if I live to be 74 or less, my life is half over already. 74 isn't an unreasonable life span, people.