Today, I’ve had a revelation. Today, I’ve begun to realise a key difference between mid-twenties me, and soon to be mid-thirties me. I’ve realised, that my youth was not wasted, and that a lack of sleep does actually hurt. You see, mid-twenties me would adventure, socialise, party it up, see millions of live bands… And then enthusiastically back up the next day with Uni, work and then in my late-twenties, parenting responsibilities. I think I thought I had a super-duper super power that made me immune to sleeping. With both youth and coffee, I COULD DO ANYTHING!
But, you won’t be surprised to hear, it turns out I fabricated my super-power AND anti-aging properties. You see, last night after work, I met Grimace and a bunch of friends for dinner, drinks and live music. It was the best night out (particularly the best school night) I’ve for a long, long time.
It was all laid out for an awesome evening… Little Mate and Giggles Magoo were having a sleepover with their Gra and Grumps, we were going to eat some yummy food and then see my favourite live band, The Bronx. In my mind we’d have an awesomely carefree night (we did), then I’d get home and get about 6 hours sleep and wake up ready to take on the day, with sickening zest. Then, I’d grab my usual morning coffee and enthusiastically take on the challenges that the 31st October 2017 threw at me. And I’d win. I’d beat everything, and achieve everything there was to achieve. And it would be ok, my superpowers would get me through.
I hope you’re laughing with me now 😂
After getting home about 1am, having a shower, deciding it was a great time to read social media, then finding some sort of comfort with the ringing in my ears, I fell sleep about 2am. Only to wake up at 3am, then 4am, 5am and 615am, each time startled, convinced I’d overslept.
So, my planned enthusiastic Tuesday morning went more like:
- Alarm, snooze, alarm, snooze, alarm, snooze, alarm, snooze, ALARM.
- World slowest makeup application
- Losing of work clothes, about 27 times
- Stumble out to kitchen for breakfast
- Scream out of house to catch train and attempt to catch up sleep on the train (miserably failing that attempt)
- Get my morning coffee earlier than usual (and hate myself for it later in the day when that fix ended)
It wasn’t a terrible day – it all went fairly smoothly, I wasn’t hung over, I wasn’t queasy; I was just freaking tired. And my body physically hurt. No amount of coffee could replace sleep in mid-thirties me.
And, so I sit here thinking that maybe, just maybe it turns out I’m like every other person. I can’t maintain the energy of a twenty year old. I’m not upset at this thought, rather I’m seeing it as a chance to remember all the awesome things I was lucky enough to experience in my youth… There are so many awesome experiences, and seeing bands live on stage were always a big part of my happy memories. As inevitably happens, life’s priorities are fairly different to 33 year old me than 23 year old me, and as such I don’t get out to see too many bands at the moment.
But, last night, Grimace and I saw The Bronx, marking 13 years that I’ve been seeing this band live. 13 freaking years! Grimace introduced me to them in 2004, and I’ve not missed an Australian Tour since. Their ability to explore the deep, dark and dirty themes in life, focusing on times when perhaps you’ve pushed the limits too far to find yourself looking into the void, or experiencing the consequences of crossing that threshold. I am drawn to the stories their songs tell. The angst, the disdain for social expectation and the release their ferocious songs play out have seen each of their five albums with an intense energy.
The high energy, loud and at times anthemic tunes from The Bronx ensures a live performance like no other; each time I see The Bronx, their performance blows me away. And their show at Oxford Art Factory in Sydney was no exception.
Lead man Matt Caughthran is the ultimate showman – His bald head owns not only the stage, but the mosh like only a few others I’ve seen – think The Boss, Dennis Lyxzen from Refused or the lead singer of Fucked Up, (whose name escapes me at this point in time) – not staying still at any point in the performance, whipping the crowd into a frenzied exhale of stupid social norms. Punching out crowd favourites, The Bronx owned everyone in attendance last night. I even allowed myself be told how to behave (eg. Matt commanded everyone in the room to get their arms in the air – usually, I detest being told how to enjoy a show. I always think ” I’ll enjoy the show on my own terms, thank you very much, I don’t need to be told how to display my enthusiasm for the music”!) But, last night I followed his lead and felt myself mirroring his dancing, screaming and sweating.
As I sit here typing this, my train is late home meaning I’ll be late to my running class. I’ve forgotten my socks, so it means I’ll be running without them. My eyes are trying to close and I feel like my life is dishevelled. But, it is all worth it as I realise my youth was not wasted
theverymoody household 