Friends are quick to point out that even my version of a quiet lifestyle still involves more socializing, drinking and eating out than some 90% of the population. But still, the fact that I tend to want to head home by 10pm on almost any given night makes me feel like I need to figure out what's going on here.
Apparently the options include:
1) I partied too hard in November/December (known as "silly season" in Australia) and my body just wants to recover for a bit before I get back into it. This was more feasible in January, but we're quickly approaching March, people. How much recovery does one really need? Charlie Sheen apparently only thinks that you need a week to recover from a hard core addiction to hookers and cocaine. A few too many champagnes before Christmas should definitely be out of my system by now.
2) I'm just getting old, and this is my new life. I'd almost believe this, but considering how suddenly my new mood hit, I question that this is the case. Surely I would have been slowing down for at least a few months before I apparently decided it was time to learn how to knit while listening to jazz on my gramophone?
3) I have some sort of virus. Like what? Mono? It's not like I'm sleeping all the time or anything. Pretty sure that there aren't any diseases where symptoms include "Wanting to binge drink for only 6 hours instead of 12". (I will be highly amused if you can show me otherwise.)
In the end, I think I just need to ramp it up. Hickster and I are heading down to Melbourne this weekend, and while I don't think for a second that it will be a weekend of madness, at least a change of scenery might inject some energy into my otherwise lethargic party genes.
If that fails, then the final test is three weeks in Europe coming up in April. Should things not go my way even when I'm surrounded by my hedonistic friends in London...well, maybe it's time to look into a retirement village.