It's Friday.

Friday night and I'm sitting at home with my computer, a good book and a bottle of wine.

Not too bad, eh?

What kills me is that while I really enjoy time by myself, when I look back, I kind of regret it. I don't have pictures of nights out to share with friends on Myspace or to frame and put on my desk. I don't have crazy stories to share tomorrow at work. What I do have (will have, tomorrow) is a good night's sleep and a well-prepared-for football game day.

God, I feel old.

There was a time when having fun with my friends was more important than getting a good night's sleep. Those crazy nights are the things I remember, right? Not how much sleep I got or that book that is really just light reading and not significant at all. Of course, all my friends were my age back then... and now they're all at least 4 years younger than me. That's my sister's age and she used to be the youngest person I knew. That's what I get for staying in a college town. (to quote "Dazed and Confused", "that's why I love high school girls... I keep getting older and they stay the same age." Of course, I don't love high school girls or college girls or any girls more than dear friends... but you know what I mean!)

The way I feel tonight reminds me of a night in my senior year of high school when my friend Sarah and I were looking for a party. We drove around for almost 2 HOURS looking for this damn thing and never did find it. We had a great time in the car though... we were dancing to Steve Miller Band and cracking up about random shit. We also made a pact that if anyone asked us why we weren't at the party, we would stick to the story that we had found a better one and spent all our time there. Neither of us wanted to admit that we spent the whole night driving around like losers... even though both of us had a blast.

So I guess if anyone asks what I did tonight, I could tell them the boring truth--that I took care of myself and had a quiet evening at home--or I could make some shit up about finding the craziest party and not making it out downtown. I think this is one of those situations where I have to be grateful for what I have, so I don't think I'll be making up stories to entertain listeners.

My worth is not decided by the people listening to my stories, real or fake. That's something I still have to learn... other people do not decide my worth. I do.

Geez, when did this post turn into Dr. Phil?