Everything seems to be slowing down. Perhaps its the run-up to the Big Exams, or maybe people are just more interested in living like a hermit nowadays. Whatever it is, I have spent far too many weekends sober and have actually resorted to watching Friday Night With Jonathon Ross, curled up in a blanket, ready to fall asleep by eleven.
Last weekend C and I spent all of friday to sunday at our friend's house. We did not go out, bar going for walks on the nearby fields and popping to the shops on a mission to get self-raising flour for our morning pancakes.
Things are changing.
Vodka shots have been replaced with glasses of red wine.
Dubstep has been taken off the playlist, for Laura Marling and Florence & the Machine.
Nights Out have been traded for Nights In.
Yes. That's right. J is now a domesticated forty-year old.
Part of me likes it; that feeling of sophistication. The pride of maturing far faster than our peers. But last night, I realised how bad it had gotten.... Last night, I was ready to go to bed at nine o'clock.
Of course I didn't go to bed then because Man Whore - one of C and I's best male friends, who is undoubtedly the sluttiest of them all - invited himself over and kept me awake till I kicked him out on his ass at quarter to one.
Nevertheless, my point still stands. I was ready to sleep at nine o'clock on a saturday night. Forget forty, I'm basically living in a retiring home. Oh dear.
With love,
J
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