My goal going into the long weekend was to have a quiet one overall. And I have personally credited myself with accomplishing that. Yes, Thursday night was a mess, but that was kind of the plan -- go all out the first night, and chill out for the rest of the weekend. To the right you'll see the only photo evidence from this weekend -- I don't remember that picture being taken, or the name of the girl on the right even though I've apparently met her and hung out with her on more than a few occasions.
As I mentioned, I only had a few drinks on Friday night. But Saturday was interesting. I had one of those days were I only left my apartment twice, for 10 minutes at a time, to buy food. Otherwise, the only person I saw the entire day was my flatmate, who found it strange that I hadn't either gone away for the weekend, or chosen to obliterate my liver and kidneys in a pub somewhere. But it was interesting because it was the first quiet Saturday I've had alone in many many months, and I realized that I still have that college mentality of always having to be out somewhere doing something. One would think that as I rock up to 30, I might actually grow out of it. But I found myself sitting around feeling depressed and like a complete loser, and even made plans to meet friends at the Coogee Bay Hotel. The only thing that saved me from yet another night out was the fact that they didn't start partying until 9pm, by which point my ass had become part of the couch, and I found myself unable to move.
Anyway, this was just a bit of a sad revelation. Twenty-eight years old, and not any more able to deal with a quiet night at home than I was 10 years ago. I promptly compensated for it by heading to a bar for the birthday drinks of someone I'd met once, as it was an excuse to drink for at least a few hours before the weekend was over. If anyone has any idea when maturity will actually arrive, please let me know.