The Magical Mathematics

Good morning from Auckland, a city I barely knew existed a few years ago (let’s be completely transparent) and in which I am presently settled for the next few months. I have absolutely nothing to do here except to be with my husband, who is working A LOT. He gets picked up at 6.10am and dropped back off, full of stories from set and still half made up, around 7.20pm. 

That’s on a good day. Sometimes, it’s 9pm.

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It’s winter here, I have no friends, the time difference prevents me from having any meaningful phone conversations with anyone I love, and I abandoned my loyal dog back in England, which infuses me with lingering guilt.

The day I arrived, he was working, so I got to the house the production had rented for us on my own. It was damp and cold. I sat down in the spectacular living room: high ceilings, breathtaking views, depressing art—a staple of pretentious houses—and I sighed.

I was exhausted from the thirty-hour journey from Marrakech to London to Dubai to my final destination. I…