It’s official. I’m old.

I never thought at the ripe old age of 21, I’d be admitting it, but it’s true.

A couple of years ago, I could party it up and hang with the best of them EVERY NIGHT OF THE WEEK. Now, I’m tired. I can’t do it.

I work insane hours Wednesday and Thursday and balance class with it all. When Friday afternoon rolls around, I sleep. I woke up at 10 p.m. tonight. Ate some supper. Caught up on TV shows.

Now, I’m sitting on my couch controlling the party going on upstairs.

The guys up there are nice. Loud, but nice. They left their cell phone number for us to communicate when things get too loud. It’s worked. But I feel ridiculous.

What’s happened to me? I can’t let 19 year olds enjoy a party on a Friday night.

I’m old. And that’s OK. I’m mature. I’ve seen a lot of things and lost a lot of sleep.

Now, at 1:30 a.m. I’m going to go lay down. Granted, I won’t sleep because it sounds like 50 people are about to fall through my ceiling. But I’m going to let them party.

Yes, at one point in my life I was crazy. I’m still a little crazy every once in a while. But the truth is, no one kept me from enjoying myself and being crazy.

So to the guy’s upstairs, have a blast. Be crazy. But please, keep the bass down.

And when you’re not partying, keep the soccer playing to a minimum. I’m seriously not confident in the structure of this building.

And to the guy who lives directly above me, you’ve gotten really good at playing guitar. In the fall, it was miserable having to listen to you try to play. But today, you serenaded me to sleep. 

Kudos.

Have fun. Sooner or later you’ll be 21 and realize that you’re old like me.