Am I Getting Old?

Concerts are strange. The big stadium concerts, I mean.
Think about it. You pay $40.00 to watch big screen TVs in the cold and sing along with 40,000 of your very close friends. You're lucky to get within a hundred yards of the singers.
So when we arrived at the stadium and Miguel Bose came out, I wasn't ready for the intensity of 40,000 people bursting and bubbling across the stadium. It was like getting injected with pure energy.
He started on time, at 8:00 pm, and we sang, danced, laughed, and yearned for more. After a stage change (a 30 minute pause around 10:15), Juanes came out and rocked the stadium. And he sang, and sang. And sang.
Now, don't get me wrong. I LOVE Juanes. I love what he's done for Colombia. He's about the sexiest man on the planet and an amazing performer. Regardless, I started to get really tired, the cold biting into my clothes, and couldn't help but daydream about hot chocolate. I even think I nodded off during a couple of his newer songs.
Midnight came around, and he was still singing. He came out for an encore and said, "YOU ARE MY BOSSES. I'LL SING AS LONG AS YOU'D LIKE." That's when I thought, "For the love of God somebody has got to stop this man. Please." I, of course, didn't vocalize that because I didn't want to be the bane of 39,999 avid fans. In Colombia, nobody stops Juanes.
Certain that we'd never, ever, ever get home, I thought I had two options: one, enjoy the concert or two, pray that it would end soon. Naturally I opted for number two. I was so so tired. We'd be there forever and ever listening to music in the cold when I could be sleeping.
I'm getting old.

Crap.