There was a time when I used to party hard-y, I’d rage against the machine and fight for my right to do so. At 26, those days are over. I’d say I had a good 4 years in the limelight before it started to fade away. Do I feel bad about? Hell no. I really enjoy staying home and watching Louis Theroux or Cops Uncut. Don’t judge me, Louis is a relatable doco genius.

Even the thought of going out is exhausting. I’m tired after thinking about choosing an outfit, doing my hair, plastering on makeup and then proceeding to drink and dance all night. Lining up outside nightclubs and bars, lining up for drinks, being uncomfortable in a tight outfit with horrifically uncomfortable shoes on. Gah! I’m pining for my pyjamas and slippers already.

If I’m going to see friends or ‘go out’ it has to be a day time event or have a definite end time of 9pm, anything after 9pm and I’m borderline comatose. Maybe if there was somewhere I could take a power nap for 30 minutes or so, I might make a recovery, I don’t know.

The idea of facing a raging hangover is terrifying. I’ve no idea how I used to do it. In my prime I was going out every Friday and Saturday and usually a week night too, just for good measure. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go to the pub after work on a Tuesday and come to at a backpackers bar some 5 hours later, taking full advantage of ‘happy hour’. Oh how quickly happy hour can deteriorate into regret hour. I’ve faced some rough Wednesday mornings, let me tell you.

There is absolutely no way I could survive an onslaught like that now. Not only would I be physically unwell, mentally, I’d be pushed to the brink. I’m no longer emotionally capable of dealing with the guilt of a hangover. When you’re young you can brush yourself off and explain it away with a throwaway line like “I’m young, this is what I’m supposed to be doing and I’ve got aaaages to get it together.” At 26 and over, there’s no excuse and deep down you know you’ll have to go through the 7 circles of drinkers remorse the next morning.

20 year olds up on a podium, clutching a rum and coke, working a ‘dance pole’ at 2am… gross, but acceptable. 30 year olds up on a podium, clutching a rum and coke, working a ‘dance pole’ at 2am… definitely a recipe for disaster. Definitely. You just know that person’s going to be battling some serious demons the next morning, there’s gonna be some soul-searching going down at their place tomorrow. Items on that agenda will include: “What am I doing with my life?” and “I can’t believe I spent that much on alcohol,” and of course, “ I really, really hope there are no pictures of it on the internet.”

When you’re in your late teens and early twenties, your body has a certain ‘snap’ to it. The unrivalled ability to bounce back from even the worst of hangovers within a few hours, or a full day at worst. As soon as you start to creep into the later part of your twenties to early thirties, the body loses that snap and you’re left cowering on the shower floor for 2- 3 days while your partner lovingly throws cheeseburgers in your general direction.

Sometimes I’ll hear a new song on the radio and feel a bit boppy, I might even cut a few laps of my living room and twerk my television. For a fleeting moment, I might think it’d be fun to go out, but then I realise it really wouldn’t be. If for no other reason than I could not possibly stay up late enough to get to the ‘good part’ of the night when all the clubs are ‘going off’. I like to be in bed and sound asleep by 10:30pm at the latest. I’m just not capable of staying awake until 11pm and then going out all kitted up. I’d feel like a Christmas ham, all dressed up, being dragged out and paraded around for everyone, then waking up the next morning a dishevelled carcass and shadow of my former self.

I used to own a dance floor! Not that I’m any good at dancing or have any coordination whatsoever, I’m all arms and booty. I look like a rock with a stick insect having a fit on top of it. It’s just not right. Despite this, I’d really rock it. A song would come on and I’d be all “Damn girrrllll, this is my jam!” I’d drop it like it’s hot, dutty whine and get my eagle on, all in the one movement if I was feeling particularly limber. Nowadays I struggle to get back up to grab the laptop after I’ve just sat down on the couch.

Don’t get me wrong, going out was great and I have some stellar memories from my party prime, but I’m relieved those days are over. I just don’t have that mental and physical stamina anymore. Doing my grocery shopping on a Sunday, when Coles is packed, or getting frisked at the airport is more than enough bump and grind action for me.



Well, I’m officially done with my party days and am borderline agoraphobic. What about you? What stage are you at? Still getting down and dirty to 50 Cent’s ‘In Da Club’ or curled up at home watching Antique’s Roadshow?

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