As the slow hands of time advance, I am finding it harder and harder to go out on a Saturday night and drink a few beers. Not that a few beers aren’t enjoyable. No sir. Rest assured that I am still a beloved beer drinker. However, as I get a bit older I find it nearly impossible to get a full night’s sleep after having a few beers. I toss and turn and am generally miserable. Such was the case this morning as I lay in bed at 5:00 a.m., fully awake and bored. It is a bit early to get up and make coffee and breakfast. I’d wake up the rest of the house, which would probably not be appreciated. So I roll over, turn on the lamp and read – knowing that around 3:00 p.m. I will crash and need a nap to keep up with the day. It didn’t used to be this way. I used to be the life of the party. In my 20s, I used to be the guy who organized a booze fest on a Friday night and with my beer drinking buddies I could hold forth with a three day bender most any time. My Army days, my college days, even my early newspaper days were punctuated with a love of the drink. But now, at 38 years-old, I find I dread the inevitable hangover, I dread the inability to sleep and I must accept that as friends gather at a pub for stories, lies and talk, I will no doubt be the first one to go home. No longer the king of the party but perhaps the wizened one who can sit in the wings and watch with a knowing smile and retire early knowing that perhaps I can still enjoy the day after.