I'm in a long-distance relationship, even though my partner lives 18 minutes away

Australians are known for their unique way of diffusing tension. Armed with quick wit, dark humour and creative memes, nothing is off-limits for an anxious Aussie. Coronavirus is no exception.

While recent jokes have centred around married couples who suddenly realise they can’t stand each other thanks to the unprecedented lengths of time spent at home together, the COVID-19 pandemic presents a unique challenge for me and my partner.

Despite living only 18 minutes and 35 seconds apart, I am a NSW resident and my partner lives across the border in Queensland. When the state borders closed overnight we entered into a long-distance relationship, because despite what he tries to tell me, visiting your girlfriend does not count as essential travel.

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We are no strangers to long distance. Although, the last time there was more than 500 kilometres between us, while I was working near Newcastle as a journalist and he was launching his career on the Gold Coast.

Initially, we both saw the light in our new long-distance relationship. We concocted Hollywood-style plans of smuggling each other interstate in the boot of a taxi and sneaking across with a jet-ski in the middle of the night.

We marked our final night together with a last supper-style feast, joined by my sister and her boyfriend, who are also facing a similar situation.

We banned discussion of the virus that shall not be named, over-indulged in homemade apple pie and laughed around the table in a way that only 1.5-metre distancing would allow. Then, we waved goodbye as if it was any other ordinary Wednesday night.

As I sit at home on the first day of this new phase of long distance, consumed by the all bad news saturating my news feed, the reality of the situation is beginning to sink in.

In our previous long-distance relationship, we vowed to always have something good to look forward to. Whether it was a half-way camping trip, a weekend escape back home or a hastily organised (but excessively decadent) mini-holiday, we made sure there was always an adventure on the horizon. This time is very different.

Facing the uncertainty of our separation is daunting. Like the thousands of other residents stranded along the NSW-Queensland border, we’re not sure when we will see each other again.

Some reports suggest the borders could remain closed for weeks or months on end. Others indicate the temporary blocks are just that, very temporary. Police are crawling through our neighbourhoods, and every back street is banked up with desperate locals trying to get across the border.

While we are grateful for our health, the ability to work from home and our freezers stocked with ice-cream, it’s still overwhelming to navigate this new landscape on your own. Questioning what we will do when the worry threatens to take hold, we are clinging to the seemingly inconsequential moments.

We’ve swapped our planned holidays with FaceTime, both of our birthday celebrations with Netflix streaming parties and our weekly date night with an online workout. He’s silently relishing the fact that I won’t drag him out of bed at 5am to go to the gym, while I’m secretly stoked that I can go to bed at 8pm without being called a grandma.

And, if nothing else, our toilet paper supplies will last twice the distance.