I jumped on the sensibility train by accident. It was more of a wander really.. Like when you’re not entirely sure what you want to do on a Saturday but you’ve got a ticket and you think you might as well mooch around somewhere. There was kind of a necessity to it. I was working full time, studying part time on a notoriously difficult course that demanded reading on an evening, attendance on no Saturday and sitting of various exams, and I lived alone (with my partner, not Bridget Jones alone) so I had all the tasks that come hand in hand with being a grown up- washing of own clothes, cooking of own food, keeping myself alive.
Let’s paint the town red?
So I really didn’t have much time to get pissed. More accurate, though, I didn’t want to waste the rare days off that I had on being hungover.
When my university schedule eased slightly, towards the end of my studies, I had the option to drink sometimes but I just didn’t fancy it. I was happy to drive and that meant not waiting 35 minutes for a taxi, and that I could leave as early or as late as I wanted. That’s when I went out. Sometimes the only thing I wanted to do was to take off my bra, slip into jogging bottoms, wipe my make up off and sit, hair all top-knotted, watching shit films under a duvet. It was luxurious and it was a real treat.
Before long people thought that the idea of me drinking was ludicrous. I’d mention having a glass of wine and hear a chorus of surprise. It was strange- while I’ve always being a terrible lightweight, at uni I’d enjoyed cartonned wine and cider and black and vodka and ring of fire. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, that I was now Boring. And Sober.
I spent my first weekend as a non-student picnicking and strawberry picking. I unwound and once again couldn’t think of a reason to drink. I don’t understand the very British thing of having a beer cos the sun’s out. Have a water with lime in it, it’s more refreshing and doesn’t make you burp.
But I decided to try harder in my second weekend of freedom.
So Friday came and I was looking forward to some civilised wine drinking. In years gone by I’d have worn a small dress and uncomfortable heels, tonight I settled for pumps, skinny jeans and a jumper. I slicked on red lipstick and on the bus to town I felt grown up. It was much more comfortable and I laughed to myself that I’d got it so wrong for so long. I could’ve saved myself at least 2 twisted ankles and glass in my feet umpteen times.
Now that I don’t drink very often I’m even more of a lightweight than I used to be. A couple of drinks in I was already feeling it. By ten o’clock I was properly pissed. I enjoyed it. I was snapping selfies and trying an alternative to my usual pout- I thought I looked dead fancy, on reflection that was probably a bit of an error…
I was surprisingly clear headed on Saturday and was up and showered by 9:00. It was later on that I started to feel iffy. I was tired and my skin felt oily. The 5 hours sleep Friday night had allowed me wasn’t enough. The week after I still can’t wake up on a morning and I’ve got bags under my eyes. Is this it? Am I old, now?
My girlfriend joked that Party Laura would be back in her box for a while now. It’s The end of June and aside from this weekend I’ve drunk a total of half a bottle of champagne, a glass of wine and one of Proscecco.
I don’t know if I enjoy being drunk any more. I used to feel left out when people spoke about how much they’d guzzled this weekend, but now I don’t know if I can be bothered. At the same time, I’m not ready to say “I don’t drink.”
Being a twenty-something really is trcky sometimes but I suppose if this is as bad as it gets, things are pretty alright. Cheers!