Party pooped

I’m not old. I’m one of those young people who think they’re cool enough to label themselves an “old soul” yes, but for the most part, I’m a regular 23 year old just trying to do better than peers. I’m an ex-Rhodes student too (affectionately known as a “Rhodent”), meaning I was groomed to handle an overdose of a good time. When I tell people I used to go to Rhodes they immediately say, “Oh, you Rhodents know how to have a good time!” The pressure to deliver is too much.

When I left varsity and started working, I found it increasingly harder to party and go clubbing. Did I party myself into the ground during my time at university? Before I moved here, Cape Town was always this mystical place that I visited once a year, during the festive season. It never let me down. I was in awe of the sheer amount of fun things one could do here. When I made the decision to relocate, I knew I’d never be bored. I have friends here who also had a similar mind set, friends who like to party and found pleasure in watching the city at night from a nightclub on the 31st floor of a building somewhere. There was a point however where I just stopped ‘going out’ in CT. I went to dinner with mates or watched a movie or two, sure, but there was no real desire to Charlie Sheen this town. I could blame exhaustion, or the old knees not being what they used to be, but I can honestly say boredom and a general laziness to socialize are to blame.

Nightclubs are such an interesting place to observe people and human behaviour. A lot of people make a conscious decision to use this space to try and meet new people over music that is louder than a Graeme Swann LBW appeal. Chances are the only thing one leaves with at the end of the night is hair that smells like an ashtray from Mad Men and Savanna breath. Am I too young to feel like this? Or is this called maturity and growth? Maybe we need to run workshops for young people who have just entered the working world and have lost the energy to be social butterflies.

This past weekend I went to a birthday party at a great nightclub. It was the first time I had been out in several months. The great thing was this club was for over 23’s so at least the born-frees wouldn’t be free enough to get in. That helped. After an hour or two of drinking, dancing and merriment, fatigue set in. I faded faster than Asafa Powell in the 100m final. I almost felt like dropping to the ground and asking God to revive me. You know that moment when you stop dancing with your body and start dancing with your head only? That’s the moment I knew my night was over.

I can’t wait for my mid-life crisis to hit me later on in life so I can go to clubs again.


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