The one after I walked away...

9am. Moorpark. 10am. Someone is offering me a job. 20 hours a week. For just $50 less than I was making with Mr X after tax AND it’s set hours. AND I’m not working for Mr X. I suggest to my potential new employer that we should talk more about it as I’ve got a press junket to race to but I say I’ll call her later. A job. Good. We’ll talk over the weekend.

I’ve got a press junket as well at the moment. I'm trying hard to concentrate. I'm all in the Mr X ex zone. Double whammy AND I'm still the acting west coast correspondent for the Daily Telegraph. And... I'm free. I'm free. I've not felt this happy in a long time. God I'm lucky. And I've got NG's dogs. I love these dogs. They're the best.

10.30am. I’m at the Kings Road café for brunch with NP, PS and GF. I’m there first and bump into my friend AD, who’s writing there. Nice to see her. The food’s good. I can enjoy it and I’m excited about having left Mr X. I’m free of Mr X. Yay. Bye bye Mr X. We all celebrate. I might actually have a life now.

I spend the day running around. And, later on, meet up with NP and PS again. They're friends from London and It’s good to have them around as they’re out every night so I always know there’s something I can do, even if I’m in a weird headspace at the moment.

I might have quit my job but I’m still nervous. Still terrified. I’ve got the Telegraph gig at the moment and that’s taking up a lot of my time but it’s still hard. Ho hum. And breathe. And breathe. It’ll be okay in the end. I hope.

I’m still dealing with Mr X stuff. Despite him telling me I had the week off. I have the blackberry you see (I’ll be getting rid of it on Friday) and so I’m getting all kinds of requests. He said I’d stopped working for him immediately but… it seems not. There's a lot of stuff to do and clear up before I walk away. I think I might miss the drama though. Just a little bit. The cache of ‘working on a film’.

The next day

I'm at a press junket. This one's a fun one. Lots of TV shows. I love TV. I'm a TV expert.

10am. The show Cupid. It’s an interview with Bobby Cannavale. I remember him as the gay one with Will on Will and Grace. I love this. It’s back to basic Catullus. Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior. Ah Latin. I miss Latin. Anyway, I know that I am privileged to meet/interview these people but… I’m free of Mr X. That’s all I’m thinking. Oh. Hang on. The blackberry just went off. Fuck. Fuck. Ignore. I can ignore. I do.

10.30am. It’s Samantha Who? Christina Applegate’s up. Meanwhile... The other journalists? They’re all friends from the circuit, some of whom I know... But... there are some I just don't know – one of them basically asked who the hell I was and what experience did I have? Huh? I’ve been doing this for years. Years! Ha.

We cross the road – we’ve left the Renassiance Hotel on Highland and are heading to the Jimmy Kimmel studio. It’s cold in there. That’s some aircon.

Jimmy comes out. He’s fun. Someone stands up, they’re trying to get his attention when they ask a question. Chest puffed out, hair being twirled… He's a professional. He skirts around the questions with wit and panache. We’re done by noon and troop back to the hotel for lunch.

By 2pm I’m out of there. I’ve got Telegraph stories to write.

The next day after that...

Bye bye Mr X. Bye bye. This is really it. 11am and I’m at the film studio. Though. Hang on. What’s this. The fucking arseholes who broke into my car stole my studio parking pass! Fuckers! Fuckers! I can’t believe it!

I head to Studio anyway. Gutted. Of course. I loved that car park pass. Seeing my name on an official Hollywood studio pass made me so happy. It's silly the things that made me happy but that was one of them. I see Ms J and we sort things out. It's all about what happens to Mr X now. I actually feel bad. I think I might miss him. No. Really. The handover is nearly complete now. When I leave I feel free. Freeer than I have done in so long. Because I know that that is it. I no longer have the blackberry. That's it. Whoever has the blackberry has the responsibility and now I'm done. I’m terrified. Of course. But I don’t want to deal with this high level of stress. It’s not for me. Not anymore. Not today. I would be so miserable.

I’m due to meet NP at 1pm at Fred Segal but I’ve just had a call from the casting office. Could I go in and man the phones. Could I ever.

DT still hasn’t rung. I do hope I do have a job!

I’m all over the shop with NP and her friend. I can’t focus. I’m thinking about work. I’m worried. I have no time. Tick tok. Time is so running out. Running out on me. I can’t deal with it. I’m just exhausted. I can’t meet new people. I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I’m so all over the place. No one really gets just what’s going on in my head. It’s not a pretty place right now. It’s like there are spiders crawling inside my brain. I’m listening to the angry voices – they’re telling me I’m an idiot. That I should have stayed with my job. That I should have gone to Pittsburgh. That I’m a loser for not going to Pittsburgh.

NP and friend are talking to me, I’m talking at them. I’m so in self I just can’t hear anything and I have only just stopped myself from crying. I’m at the edge. People keep going how is LA? IS it great? Well… I don’t know.

I’ve been shot, been living out of a suitcase for four months, got in a five car pile up, decided to have a crush on the world’s most unavailable man and feel crushed, my flat back home’s been flooded (did I mention that yet? Yes, my Earls Court home is under water), I’ve gained 30 pounds in weight, I’ve walked off my job, I’m tired all the time, my mother’s upset with me because I never stay in touch, I’m trying to keep it together, I feel like a failure, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life…

So. What do I answer? I just want to cry today. I really do.

On the plus side. Today. I’ve met some incredible women. Incredible people. People have shown me such kindness and love. I have a roof over my head. I have friends. I have a car. I have food (too much obviously). And the sun’s shining. That makes up for so much.

I just have trouble when people want to know how my life’s going. They’ve just arrived. So full of hope and enthusiasm and I feel slightly jaded. Or more than slightly jaded. Spent. I need my old enthusiasm back. I was so happy when I arrived… But… that’s achievable. I can feel good. I have the choice.

Anyway. So poor NP's friend. And NP. They’re getting ‘shit noam’. However, NP's friend used to be an assistant so gets it. I relax. Good. She gets it. I don’t have to be anything other than me right now. Thank fuck.

I race off to the casting office and do the phone work as the fitties start arriving for their auditions. All I’m doing is answering the phone. Easy. Scary. As I don’t want to fuck up. But easy.

And… that night. It was off to the Dresden with PS, GF, NP and NO's friend. They’re all heading to the desert but I’ve got the press junket at the weekend. I need to be here for that. The Dresden was nice. I think I relaxed a bit. Only a bit mind.

I had the salmon. I won’t do that again. It was too much for me. Too much food. I’m eating like a piggy.

I wanted to go out afterwards. It seemed too early but it was off to bed for me. Probably best. I only seem to get into trouble these days.