I am usually unaware of my age. If asked what age I feel right now, I'd probably say 24-25-ish rather than 28. Sometimes however, a certain sequence of events--other than hearing one's mother call her a spinster or relatives demanding to know why one has not married yet--will remind a gal that she's not in her early or mid twenties, that she is in fact in her late twenties.
Friday night, I went to two different bars. Got drunk. Went to a dance club, pounded a few more drinks, and danced my ass off. Realized--after about 10 years of experience with alcohol, some of which included nights of bowing down to the porcelain god--that I had reached the Limit and subsequently drank lots of water.
Saturday, slightly hungover, I attended a professional event with an open bar. Then went to another bar and then a dance club and danced my ass off. Got drunk. Unfortunately, I realized my Limit a little too late, and a visit to the porcelain god was in order.
Today is Sunday. As I groggily popped in my Extra Strength Tylenol caplets and forced water down my throat, it hit me: I'm too old for this shit.
I am not 20 years old. I am not in college. I am not of that mind and body and state where I can get piss-ass drunk two nights in a row, dance nonstop for five straight hours until 3 AM and bounce right back the next day on three hours of sleep and be totally normal. I don't even feel normal when I'm sober.
Granted, I had fun. I love meeting new people. I love dancing to music while buzzing happily. I love going out. So aside from the nausea, headaches, vomiting and hangovers, I had fun.
Just a new note to self: reserve the piss-ass-debauchery to only one night a week.
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