It seems as if I am not a Party Animal.
I had sort of realized this before today, but I just felt like confirming it officially today.
I have been living in Granada for a month and a half and I have gone out late twice. Not much. Am I unhappy about it? Not much. When someone comes up and says “Shall we go for a drink?” I think Yeah, sure, why not. Then I get home. I have dinner. I relax. It’s Friday. And when I get a message saying that we’re meeting at eleven thirty (may I say this again? ELEVEN THIRTY. Yes, it’s normal: for a twenty-something year old, Spanish, energetic youth which I am evidently not) somewhere obscure I tend to retract my position and stay firmly in my bed, watching whatever I was watching, munching on biscuits, sipping a tisana and just being quiet. Thinking of the upcoming weekend and how I will not oversleep tomorrow, not have a headache and manage to efficiently manage the days to almost perfect productivity.
No, I am not a Party Animal. Is it that bad?