Today I woke with red wine stained lips, smudged cat eyes and bobby pins stabbing into my head - keeping my bedraggled beehive somewhat intact. A dry mouth, bloodshot eyes and a beast of a hangover which could have only come from my best friend Daniel. I just bid him adieu as he head back to Brissy with his bub and baby mumma. To honour our friendship, we spent our last night together; eating way too much food, drinking far too much wine, having far too much fun. True to form I mum danced in the lounge room and scream sang the lyrics to Joni Mitchell just a few times to many, while Dan looked on lovingly. And now, my heart is heavy and my head lost amidst a cloud of nostalgia.
Dan’s a total card. A compelling contradiction with his sharp, witty tongue which can be totally cutting, and his big heart that will never stop loving. I look back on our years of friendship; an eclectic mash up of happy and sad but never boring. Two twenty something trashbags traversing the trials and tribulations in this thing called life. We met during a seminal stage in my life – and he’s been by my side ever since for all the important parts. We’ve shared each other’s greatest achievements and been there for the epic failures.
He nursed me through my relationship breakdown. I was a wreck; utterly flummoxed, totally exhausted and drained. I spent most lunches selfishly venting, searching for solace. And he sat, patiently, listening to blubbering incoherence. I know now that all dragged out far longer than it should’ve but Dan’s support never wavered. He never got frustrated with me, he let me take my time and talk it out and that’s just what I needed.
He then became my willing wingman, during that drunk and disorderly, post break-up hot mess stage. And supported some of my more outlandish and ill-advised decisions, like that time we went clubbing in my hometown and I bought a guy home to my parents’ house. Then I freaked out and played possum to avoid the whole situation. I was texting Dan as I pretended, very poorly I’m sure, to be asleep. He ended up awkwardly asking the guy to leave. I know, I’m awful. I just freaked out – it was too fast, too soon. Man, playing possum is underrated.
I’ll never forget the time we pulled an all-nighter, then called in sick for work and went back out the next morning for breakfast cider. Or the time I was blazed and famished and he surprised me with a pizza. It was just a cheeky Coles number, straight from the frozen section, but I completely lost my mind. I was awestruck and so damn happy. I still think that’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me.
Most nights out ended with us drifting off to sleep, drunkenly intertwined and perfectly comfortable. I never felt frightened of being single, because I knew having Dan meant I’d never be truly alone. I know I can tell him anything and all judgment is reserved; reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope (thanks F. Scott Fitzgerald). He gets my sense of humour; we have a sick and twisted long running joke about kicking pigeons. And we can communicate in a Kardashian-esque shorthand, which means our chat is vivacious and free flowing.
OK, maybe I’m being slightly melodramatic; I mean I am seeing him again in less than a week when he visits Sydney. But reminiscing about our relationship has turned me into a big ol’ mush ball, and I’m not ashamed to wax poetic.
Love you DJ. X