Friendship

This weekend, my best friend, who I have lived with for ten years, moves out.

Although this isn't sudden, I think it's the first time I've contemplated it fully.

Allow me to explain.

My best friend and I went to high school together. A couple of years after high school, we both moved to the city - me for university, and him for new career opportunities. For many years, we had talked about how cool our share house in Perth would be. It was our dream. Eating Red Rooster, watching Smack The Pony. Wielding our fake IDs at Rosie O'Grady's. Sitting around our kitchen table which would double as a fish tank. Yeah, we were cool.

In Perth, we lived with others - some very dear friends. Years on, as I neared the end of my law degree, my best friend (yeah, I'm going to go ahead and call him my BFF) announced that he was moving to Melbourne. I also decided to move to Melbourne at the end of my degree (now, before you write me off as a bunny boiler, I moved at a time that maybe 5 or 6 other people in our circle of friends moved as well. At that time, unless you had a degree in engineering or some other mining-centric field, jobs were thin on the ground).

So we moved to Melbourne and share housed with another amazing friend. The three of us eventually moved to a house that I bought. The amazing friend moved back to Perth to be with a partner, my BFF and I eventually found partners of our own. Both of them moved in. So the four of us, plus our dogs, have been living in our happy, slightly weird, urbane family. Until now. Since the beloved and I announced our engagement, my BFF and his BF have made plans to get their own place.

Now, I know that anyone reading this may think "what's the big deal? It's not like he's moving to Pakistan! It's not like he is her BOYFRIEND". These are points that many, many others have made to me. And I agree!! At least in the logical, sensible part of my brain. The part which organises tax returns and peels stickers off fruit BEFORE eating.

But that part of my brain doesn't always prevail, and you guys, the crazy, emotional, Oprah watching brain has kicked in.  When you live with someone for that long - platonically, romantically, whatever  - well, they become your family. You start to know everything about that person. You start, in some ways, to emulate that person in ways that you don't even recognise. You seek their counsel on everything. You cry to them when there's no more wine in the fridge. You yell at them when they delete your Law and Order from the Foxtel planner. You ask them to console you after another evening of regrettable lady-man liaisons with ill advised suitors. And they do. With aplomb.

Most of all, you love them and you think they are the best person in the world for hanging about for ten years putting up with your bullshit.

Don't get me wrong - I understand that change is a fact of life. I know that this is a fabulous milestone for Michael and I (it's hard to believe that we have never lived together alone in our relationship and I'm looking forward to that). I know I'll see my BFF all the time (we are planning on starting a business together so he's my business partner and will be my office bee-yatch very soon, I hope).

I'm just sad because I'll miss my best friend. I'm sad because in the ten years that we've lived together I never once stopped to think "hey, moron, this might not last forever, so cherish it while you've got it and stop getting pissed at the guy because he beat you at trivial pursuit again."

So. There you go. If you'll excuse me, I need to go and see if my BFF is free to watch some Smack The Pony.