the 11 month itch

With James and my one year anniversary fast approaching, this week has had me thinking about relationships. We spent the weekend together in Tassie, and got a good dose of variety. We had a friend who was getting divorced, friends who were heading towards their 10 year anniversary and a friend contemplating whether or not to move in with her partner.

It wasn't until I started making plans with James for our July 25 do that I started to panic about it. I've never made it to a year with a boy before. Granted I've never had a boyfriend as fabulous as James, but I've come close, only to have relationships end at the 11 month mark. Does this mean something? Is one year a milestone I'm scared to land on? Because I'm certainly freaking out about it.

My beautiful girlfriend, who will remain unnamed, loves her boyfriend to bits. She's so happy with him, he's so lovely to her. But she's not ready to give up all her own space. Seriously, never having the bed to yourself? Never stretching out just because you can and it feels great? Never getting to stay up till 3am watching Dawson's Creek re-runs? Who can blame her.

All I can decide, and I'm feeling very Carrie Bradshaw right now, is that for a relationship to work, it has to work for you. It's not about time, or space, or expectations. Its about what makes you happy. And as long as James keeps on being this damn cute, I'm gonna hang in there, regardless of my neuroses. Because thats whats important.

Moving house?

Tim and I have recently started the far too exciting activity of packing.

Now all our Brunswick West dinner party fans dont fret, we're not leaving the Bruns. In fact were not even leaving the Pears. We're moving 5 houses down the street.

Joke of course being, you need to pack just as many boxes to move 5 houses as you do interstate. Shame.

Anyway, the point is that I realised moving felt a little too familiar. I mean, this is about to be Tim's 3rd home. I did the math, it's my 19th.

Its true. And to make it more fun, 12 of those houses have been in the last 7 years.

Regardless of the stats that suggest I must be an intolerable roomie, I'd like to point out, Tim is coming with me. We're just moving on to bigger and better things. And by that I mean a bigger garage, bigger bedrooms, my friend Steve (discussed previously) and a puppy; Shaun Barack Obama Muir-Clark. (We haven't met him yet, just named him. If you know a puppy who needs a good home, hit me up.)

So here's to packing, moving, unpacking and all the shit times in between. Here's to my dad, who celebrated my interstate departure by declaring he'd never have to help me move house again, and to my boyfriend James, who has a van.

Hey baby, busy on the 25th?