My phone lights up in notification of a new text.
"What are you going tonight?"
I'm in my pajamas, in bed, watching a late night talk show.
* I'm already in bed for the night. What's up?*
"When did you get so old? It's only 10:30."
Ouch.
* I don't know. It just kinda happened one day. *
"Well we are going out if you decide to stop being lame and want to join us."
* Ok. Thanks. Maybe next time. *
Who am I kidding I won't go out next time.
My party days are over.
The mind numbing thump of clubs is no longer appealing.
The light headed feeling induced by alcohol is more nauseating than fun.
I'm 22. That's not old.
Right?
Just because I would rather stay at home than go out for thirsty Thursday, that makes me old?
I would like to think I am growing up.
I'm an adult now.
I'm responsible.
Right?
That's what I tell myself anyway.
I'm not old, I'm growing up.