a&a; half here with friday night routines and a little midweek surprise.

At the moment, I’m not really doing anything all that eventful.
Coming here solo means I don’t have the Friday socials that were a regular occurrence with Sport Lived and I’m struggling to not think of my time here as entirely temporary.

I think I’m as settled as I’m going to get.


Might as well kick off with my awesome for the week.
Boring adults that we have to be sometimes, there is admin that comes with the car such as insurance. Now, we’d set up the insurance through Youi – I already hold my contents insurance with them and it made sense to rack up some Youi rewards we could turn in to tasty treats, like airmiles.
The initial payment had come out of my account, on the proviso that Zac would have to change it over to his after his first paycheck came through because my account would not have enough.
Naturally, he forgot until it was too late.
Suddenly I’m pounded with overdrawn fees and have to use the little fun money I have left sorting it out.


I tried to stay calm about the situation, but usually small disagreements like this are being exacerbated by the distance, by not being able to just talk it out, hug it and kiss and make up.
It also doesn’t help that I’m flicking between 3 bank accounts in 3 currencies and as of yet, haven’t put all my financial eggs in one basket.

I was walking home from work, Snapping my rage to Lewis, using up the little data I had left on my bundle frantically transferring funds from here to there, feeling like I was borrowing from Peter to pay Paul and saying an imaginary goodbye to the brunch I’d been planning for the morning.
Then I get a call from a number I don’t recognise and (somewhat aggressively) answer it.
It’s from some guy called Ben who wants to know where my flat is, that he’s having trouble finding it and he has a delivery for a ‘Becky Kadansky’.
I was giving the guy a hard time, until he said he was from NZ Muscle, mumbling until I heard the word ‘supplements’.
A little flip in my stomach and my heart fluttered, I started to stammer and apologised profusely, giving him incredibly detailed instructions to get to the unit building.

“It’s my, boy…partn…it’s Zac, I think he’s surprising me because he knows he’s in trouble, Zac has, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming or I would have been there, it’s opposite Courier Post, I had an extra lesson you see and finished late…”

Because flowers won’t last as long as my gains will 🏋🏼

I get home and pick up a box full of protein, BCAAs and Creatine, plus another shaker, from Zac, to say sorry for messing up.
He’d found out the night before when he’d tried to call Youi to fix everything up that it was too late to change it for that payment and was hoping I’d get the delivery before I found out.
I suspected he was up to something in the morning when he was being so picky about knowing the details of my address – “Now are you Morningside or Kingsland? I need to know for the uber when I come and visit in 6 weeks!”

It’s also been nice having Lewis as my sidekick.
He’s living in a share house about 10 minutes from my place, where he has a TV and doesn’t have to feed $3 to a hungry machine to have clean clothes.
I’ve been going round and doing my washing there, but purely because of how our weeks fall, it seems to have always been on a Friday night.
He cooks us some pasta, I put my washing on and then there’s usually a film on the telly to keep us entertained.
We sat through the emotional rollercoaster that is Big Hero 6, and this week Indiana Jones was on. Temple of Doom, hugely underrated in my opinion.
We laughed at the terrible special effects and marvelled how far technology has come.
The film ended with a promise of The Last Crusade next week.
Without skipping a beat we’d made it a date for next Friday.
Film, food, free washing.


Awkward this week doesn’t so much evolve around a situation as a feeling.
An overwhelming feeling.
The kind of feeling that doesn’t go away when you try and ignore it, but grabs hold, begins to grow and starts to suffocate you.

Anyone who knows me, knows how fiercely independent I am.
I’m stubborn, I hate asking for help, I’d rather starve than borrow money, I don’t find it easy admitting defeat and won’t usually take ‘no’ for an answer.
On paper I’m a nightmare, but I’ve been told it all adds to my charm.
Friends congratulated me on how quickly I eased in to a new life here in New Zealand, I made it look easy, they said, travel suits you, they said, Auckland looks like it’s treating you well, they said.

Well, it’s not that I hate Auckland, but it’s not Melbourne.
I’m trying to find positives, trying not to dislike the city that’s my home for the next however long, but it’s not Melbourne.
Every time my coffee is called and I wince at being called: “Bicky!” a small part of me dies and flies back to Melbourne.
Every time I look outside and see glorious sunshine, rush outside to sit in the sun and read then start shivering within 10 minutes because it’s only 24 and there’s a cool breeze, a small part of me dies and flies back to Melbourne.
Every time I look at my phone and see 3 missed calls from Zac and I know I’ve missed my window to talk to him for the next 5 or 6 hours, I feel my heart yearning for home.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be with someone as much as I want to be with him.
I feel like I’m missing out.
I hate not cooking his dinner for him, or ironing his shirt for him and every time he brags he’s made himself lunches for the week, or he did the washing I get a pang of guilt and jealously that I’m not there, that he doesn’t need me anymore.
I miss all the stupid annoying things, like being a morning person, or asking me to do something I’d already planned on doing for him, or constantly watching all the sport.
I miss cuddles and rubbing my face against his arm when I’m tired.

Little glimmers of contentment surface in the week: brunch with Lewis, the walk home after work while the sun is still shining, left over cookies and free hot cross buns in the staff room, but they’re fleeting and seem to dissolve into nothingness once I get home and shut the door.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library, partly for the free wifi and partly because it’s neutral territory for my restless soul. It’s as though, surrounded by the works of other more tortured writers, I can be at peace.

I’m not trying to wallow. Quite the opposite, I’d much rather ‘get over myself’.
I’m aiming for catharsis, writing down my negative feelings towards my prison in the vain hope it’ll purge the growing resentment blackening an otherwise picture perfect start.
On paper I’m living my dream: thriving cafe culture, teaching swimming nearly full time and a gym within flexing distance.
But none of it feels like it fits the way it should.

I hadn’t realised how all consuming an LDR was.
Or perhaps I’d forgotten. Sugar coated over the heartache because the last one worked, the last one was better for the distance and only fell apart at the prospect of togetherness.
I feel like I’m only half here, that try as I might I’m keeping something back, that a huge something is missing. I never really believed I needed someone else to make me happy, I’m a free spirit, happily I’ve always relied on my own company, my own will to see everything and do everything.
It’s just not the same without Zac.


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