When did I get old?

For someone who used to go out and dance the night away, I sure don't feel 26. I feel 46. Rod and I cleaned for much of yesterday. We sorted papers like mad, and once the bathroom is cleaned, our house is quite respectable. I mean, apart from the bedroom, which has suffered a hit by a Clothing Typhoon (more later). After cleaning, I spent a little time doing some packing before Rod and I went to Jette's for a games night. We ordered Olive Garden take out, and when Lori bailed, we played a couple of card games and decided to head out to see what Edmonton was doing on a Saturday night.

Because it's warmer then usual for this time of year, there were many line-ups to get into the bars on Whyte Ave, and even line-ups to get into normally slower bars on Jasper Ave. We had briefly considered going to Blues on Whyte, but I was getting tired before we even left Jette's and I was in trakkies and a thermal shirt because I had intended not to be seen in public. And as we drove around and I got more and more tired, I wondered, what happened to the little slip of a girl in me who used to hit the dance floors at 9 or 10 and only come off at 2 or 3?

I stopped drinking about 4 or so years ago. I was not an alcoholic or anything. I suffered from Idiot-Binge-Drinker disease. I've always been insanely competitive, and I used to have to drink myself under the table in order to prove to the guys I hung out with that I could drink them under the table first. By the time I moved to Edmonton in 1997 though, I was slowing down. But I still had the problem of not knowing when to stop, and even worse, I appeared well enough that the bar staff never cut me off, so I would inevitably get so plowed, I'm sure my clothes were soaked in liquor. But I *loved* to dance, so I would never say no to a bar night.

A slight near-alcohol poisoning moment at a staff x-mas party back in 2000 made me allergic to alcohol now. I've had what amounts to about 2 glasses of wine in 4 years. I just can't do it. But then after putting a stop to the binge drinking, I started to get fewer and fewer invites to bar nights, and as my friends got older and slowed their drinking down, we were less and less inclined to go out dancing.

Last year in Vancouver, the conference I was attending arranged a bar night at Voda, and I was finally going to get to go out dancing. It ended up being only me and Trafton from the U of A delegation, but we knew conference people, so it was all cool. But literally, I hit the dancefloor and stayed there until after midnight when Trafton wanted to leave. He told everyone the next day that I was a "Dancing Machine", and I couldn't have been more pleased to hear it. It felt damn good.

So last night, when the idea was floated to go out and I rejected it, I began to wonder what the hell was wrong with me? When did I get old? The answer came to me this morning when the Tiny Terror was doing bad things that made me get out of bed to chase her off....'Crap...I got old when I stopped drinking!'

In an entirely separate matter though, I'm almost done packing, and as of now, we are at 39 hours and counting. Which is why the bedroom looks like a freak clothing typhoon hit it. Suitcases and shoes and clothes everywhere.