The one where I get off in court for the first time...

The rest of America had today off. It’s President’s Day after all. IO’s boyfriend AS needed picking up from somewhere and then… it was off to meet Mr X at home in Zuma again. At least the drive is stunning. So stunning. Las Virgines. Can’t beat that. I’m at Mr X’s for hours. Doing stuff. You know. Stuff.

Mr X was meant to be in Mexico today. I was so looking forward to him going. TWO DAYS OFF. Yay! However, with everything looking a bit tits up, he’s here. In LA. I’m on the verge at the moment. On the verge. So miserable and I didn’t come to LA to be miserable. I shouldn't be miserable, I should be happy that I have a job. A job in the INDUSTRY. But I can't see that right now. I just know that I've been having nightmares where I'm attacked by buzzing blackberries. No. Seriously. They've been flying at me - attacking me - buzzing - and I can't stop the noise.

Oh piss. I got a text from Mr X. It’s nearly midnight. He wants me to pick him up at 8.30am tomorrow. BUT… I’m due in court. At 8.30am. I tell him that I’m in court. No response. I call. He’s on a call. There's an ongoing issue with the film... There’s a constant stress and I’m at the front line.

I order a car to pick him up – and email the studio to make sure that that would be okay. I tell Mr X about the car. In an email. He’s still not answering. It's now 1am. I wait. And wait. Nothing. So... I go to sleep.

The following morning (five hours later)

6am. The emails start. Why did I order a car? Why did I pick that time? Would he be paying? Okay a) he asked me to pick him up at 8.30 so I ordered the car at 8.30am. b) I checked with the studio. They’re paying. C) Aaaaaaargh. You’re getting looked after by the studio. But he’s angry. Why aren’t I there?

I explain that a) I’m in court. B) I sorted all this out last night. C) Aaaaaaargh. God I'm wrong for this job. My skin is nowhere near thick enough.

Okay. So…. Today I was in court. And… of course. I was late. Everything was against me. The lights. The traffic. The parking. The security detail at the court house. The lift. The crowds. Then… of course. I got the wrong court again. Sweating I raced in there. And they called out my name. My hand went up. I looked around the court. This time round, there didn’t seem to be the harder looking crims from earlier. Mostly pissed off professionals in business suits who’d turned left on a red light or something like that. And a woman who only speaks Ukranian. She’s got a translator with her. It’s all a bit comical but I can’t believe how loud my heart is. Boom. Boom. Boom.

A few people are getting off. I count the number of people compared to the cops. We’re on the left, the cops are on the right. If my cop’s a no show… I’m off the hook and get my $92 back. Boom. Boom. Boom. Someone’s cop has turned up. He changes his plea to not guilty. So. That’s the game. Okay. At least I saw that. And now me.

No cop! Whooooop! I’m free!

However, the relief doesn’t last long. It’s back to the studio to meet Mr X and get everyone’s lunch orders again.

It’s my age. I just, now, feel too old to do all this. This isn’t my life. But I now know that someone would kill to be there. It’s an entry level job. I’m trying. I really am. They’re talking about Pittsburgh. There’s no money to get me to Pittsburgh. So what am I to do? I should be leaving next week. If I’m going. Mr X and I need to talk. I’ve checked his emails. They’re still talking about an assistant… I can’t bear this any more. It's the uncertainty. Do I have a job? Or don't I? What's going on...? Do I want the job? Or don't I? I'm too scared to just leave.

I’m so clumsy when it comes to lunch orders. The place to pick up the food is about four blocks away and then some. And I have trouble holding things. The bags are heavy, my heart is heavier and, as ever, the iced tea is the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m on the verge of tears. I know it’s only getting food but to have this as my life. I want to romantise it and say that this is the best job ever now that I’m in LA. But… It’s not. I’m alone and I’m carrying food and I’m xx years old. This is the job of someone ten years younger and I’m struggling to cope with it all. I know I should be able to deal with it.

Anyway, they’re all in conference and I realise… it’s Tuesday. I want to go meet the Brits on Robertson. but I’m going to have to get Mr X home. That means driving him. And maybe even at 9pm. Right now I’m so filled with resentment that I don’t know where to turn or what to do. This is so the job of an assistant and I'm freaking out. this is not good. I'm a wreck by now. A wreck.

I’m on the phone to car hire companies – I need to get him to a car hire place but he won’t leave. I’m on the phone, I’m on the web. I’m trying so hard. I’m running out of time. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat.

Thank god for JJK. The line producer. He’s got a contact. They’re going to deliver a car to the studio. I could kiss him. I really could. Thankfully, the meeting at Lionsgate is over by 7ish. I’m free. I’m out of there. All I have to do is drive AT home. Yes. I’m also a driver now for his mates. We chat. He tells me not to go to Pittsburgh. That it would be a mistake. He’s so so right. He points out I’d probably have a fit and walk off set. In the middle of the night. I don’t need to do that. I just don’t need to go.

The next day

9am Moorpark. Tired. But no Mr X today. Then. At 1pm. It’s off to the LC. Mis C’s celebrating and I go to join them all for lunch afterwards but… I’ve got an appointment with Theresa at 3pm. Theresa is the psychic I saw in London JUST before I got the job out here. As in hours beforehand when I didn’t know what was going on.

Anyway… she’s all full of the joys of spring – yet angry. I have it all on a plate. My life. It’s all waiting for me, as long as I put in the effort. And that’s the hard part. Apparently my commitment cards are there. It’s all here for me. She couldn’t be more delighted. So… there we go. I’m going to be okay. It’s all going to work out for me. However, today I’m really tired. Really tired. I’m always exhausted working for Mr X. But… this I know. I’m not going to go to Pittsburgh. I have no desire to go there.

Anyway, I have a carpark pass for the studio so I’m there now doing some work for the Telegraph. I can be online there and do some work so that’s all good I’m enjoying that. I’m still, at present, the acting West Coast correspondent for the Daily Telegraph and all I’m doing is churning out article after article. Just hoping that they remember to pay me. And soon. I need this money. I’ve had news from the UK. My flat has flooded (pictured above just before I left the UK with my stuff in storage).

A burst water pipe. I just can’t deal with this. It’s like another nail in the coffin of my already poor financial status. I’m just hoping that the insurance will deal with it but…. I just don’t know right now. I’m hoping that it’ll be okay but we’ll see. We’ll see. I have tenants but the rent has been eaten up from day one and that’s so depressing. I’m so frustrated with all this. I’ve not made a cent. I've put up a photo of the flat, just before I moved out. God I'm tired.

fuck