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.

The one where I have to get the vitamins...

9am. Moorpark. I can’t really concentrate. I’m still tired and the shit’s hitting the fan with Mr X. There's an issue. Something's not been signed off. It's become a drama and it's affecting Mr X, me, well everyone really. No one's happy. Thankfully it's not my fault but it means all the small stuff can't fall apart. If it does - it's a disaster... DISASTER.

Anyway. I have to drive 20 miles to pick up some posters from the Production office. J’s being really intense. "So.. you’ve got til XXXX. Okay? And then the job's over. Got that. Over." Yes. I've got that. Even though Mr X hasn't told me that he's going to Pittsburgh - no one has apart from J - I know that I'm about to be fired. That's the message. "Mr X moves to Pittsburgh in a few months. Then you’ll lose your job." That's kind of scary. I'm about to lose my job but no one's told me. I explain I find her enthusiasm for the project really intimidating (but without saying intimidating) because I don’t even know if I’m being involved after the next month or so or if I care. I don’t want to care, or get into it, because I may be out so what's the point? But… right now. I don’t know what I want. Do I really want to move to Pittsburgh for three months? Four months? My heart is here. It really is. Anyway. I leave. I can't take it any more. I need a visit to the Java Detour.

Shit. I had to race to Malibu. Race. And… on the way. The phone was going. Mr X. I had to go to the studio to get a Rocky DVD, so I called ahead to get Mr X’s lunch from Spruzzo in Zuma, then I phoned the video store at Heathercliff to get them to put aside Rambo (for work not pleasure reasons I hasten to add). It's all go.

Strange note at the Pavillion at Heathercliff: "Paparazzi fuck off". Basically. But not quite that blunt. However. I saw no one famous. No one at all. Then… it’s off to Spruzzo to get the lunch. It’s ready. Pricey for a tuna salad and a sandwich but there we go. It’s still not stopping as now… it’s off to the dry cleaners. Now this. This is proper assistant work. The running. The journey up the path to the house was a disaster. Struggling under ten items of clothing, a laptop, the necklaces I’d picked up the day before, the lunch and a myriad of other random things for Mr X I tottered up the path.

Mr X was home, he was sitting with his brilliant DP as they went through the script. Kind of fascinating but I couldn't really concentrate as I was preparing the lunch… well. I put it on a plate and sat there, quietly, checking my emails while they talked about the project. It was like they were storyboarding each scene. I didn’t know that happened. Very intense stuff. I checked my emails, printed off some job applications and poof – was out the door. Or so I thought. No. There was still more to do.

I had to get Mr X’s vitamins. I took a picture of the bottles I needed and wrote down the names and brands of the five bottles I had to deal with. It was non-stop. At the vitamin barn the bill came to $180 or so. Mr X’s card (or my version of it) was declined. And declined. And declined. This happened before. I was buying his wine and it got declined and I’ve got nothing in the bank so can’t pay for this at all. I phone the credit card company - it was a mistake. I'm sorted out. I get back to the house. Apparently I didn't get all the vitamins. Mr X wasn't not happy. But I did. I did. I took a picture. He'd forgotten to get out one of the bottles. However, despite the photographic evidence, which I didn't show, remember the boss is always right and I was at fault. I bit the bullet, said nothing, and went back to the store.

Course they didn't have this particular brand at the store. So... it was another couple of miles to the Pacific Greens Store on the PCH to get this bottle of gloop. Great. Thankfully my mileage is getting reimbursed by the studio and, hell, there are worse places to be driving around. The PCH is a pleasure. Not, however, when you hit traffic, but, at least there's an ocean to gaze at.

Everything goes right by the time it’s the evening. I joined a bunch of English girls to play Netball. Netball. It’s been nearly 20 years since I managed to pivot and play. It was exhausting but I loved it. Loved it. The basketball players on the other court were confused. And, for a while, we had an audience but it was nice to do something active that I enjoyed. I even managed to play goal shooter for the second half (first half wing attack) and scored some goals. Obviously I want to play again. Now. Right this minute. But I’m going to have to wait two weeks. Still. At least I’ve tried to do something active.

Throughout the game though I could hear my crackberry. It’s Mr X. He might have to go to London tomorrow or Dublin. But Europe to sort out the issue that was going wrong… It’s all falling apart. The film’s all falling apart – everything. He had to cancel the dinner I’d set up with a composer. I don’t know what Mr X’s doing but I know he’s online and I know he’s stressing out. I need to sleep. We've got a lot to sort out in the morning. The buzzing has stopped. I think even Mr X needs a break.

Following day
I’m due at studio at 10.30 after Mr X’s marketing meeting. The email’s haven’t stopped. He’s due to fly out this afternoon. Dublin here he comes. Part of me just wants him to let it go. After all, as I've been told, I've got a month left. A month. And then I'm being let go.

I’m sitting outside the exec producer’s office chatting to her assistant – but he won’t chat. He’s wearing a headset. He’s busy. He’s getting ahead. He’s not standing for it. He’s going to make it in Hollywood…. So… I retreat to another desk and do some writing while I wait. It’s been two hours now. I’m going nowhere. Mr X comes out. He’s had enough. I’m to go walking with him. We go to his car where he has a cigarette. He’s not a happy bunny. He hands me his girlfriend’s birthday present.

Either way – as I suspected – he’s not had time to get her a card so I’m dispatched to CVS to buy some greeting cards. Thing is, part of me KNEW he wouldn't have time to get a card, this is stuff a great assistant (which I'm not yet, let's be honest here) would have anticipated. But I did anticipate this and I didn't do anything. Now that's not good. It's the little things that really make this job work and I did fuck up a bit there. Oh well. If I ever get a gig like this again, I'm on this... I really will be.

However, more mini dramas for me. I get to the studio car park and... horror of horrors, I've lost my parking ticket. It’s $30… and they don’t validate at the studio anymore. Or do they? I must cut quite a pathetic figure as the exec’s producer slips me some validation passes and even the two queens on the front desk are sympathetic.

I race to CVS. The choices of cards are AWFUL. What does one buy? The dilemma was this: I’m buying a card that Mr X has allegedly bought for his girlfriend. It’s a tough call. I pick the only three blank cards rather than the one with the dog on it which says something about smelling old. Which was funny. But highly inappropriate. I don’t think this is a time for humour. I race back in the rain and am back in the office at the studio with gifts for the two pretty boys at the front desk. Chocolate. Hershey’s kisses. Always a good idea to bring presents for gate keepers at any corporation. I think they were touched.

Anyway, I’m in the corner when the blackberry buzzes. Mr X’s hungry. He wants me to go and get food but I throw this one back at the other assistant. Surely his boss needs to eat too. They send an intern out. Yay! Result! Ideally I need a car parking pass. As this to-ing and fro-ing is getting expensive for the studio and they like to keep things cheap.

Meanwhile, I’m having a poke around the office. DVD box sets. Mmmmmm. I spot Mad Men. I’ve always wanted to watch that. I contemplate ‘borrowing it’ but that would be wrong. Instead I email the other assistant of the other exec producer and ask her if I can have a box set. Two minutes later it’s in my lap. Meanwhile… I’m still sitting outside the office. I’m having fun. I’m online. I’m on facebook. I’m busy. Doing my thing. I get out of the studio at 2pm. They’re all eating away and I thought I wouldn’t be there for lunch so… I realise I’m free to go.

I have Mr X duties. Collect the girlfriend’s necklace and the card and then off to the fedex office. I had posters to send to his father – of Mr X's old film – he promised to send 20 of them to his dad for a charity. It was a nightmare. I haven’t had the balls to say there were only 19. That was all they had. That was it. The poor assistant at CAA worked her arse off to get them as it was. I sent the girlfriend’s necklace next day delivery, while the posters should arrive there by Monday. Done. Dusted. Over. Or so I thought… that came back to bite me in the arse.

Anyway… the rain was bad on the way back to West Hollywood. So… it took me two hours to get to Trader Joe’s and buy some food. By the time I got back, it was 6pm. I was tired. I fell asleep on the sofa. With the dogs. When I woke up, Nico had gone, it was cold and I crawled into bed totally missing the party I’d been invited to at Bar Marmont. I wish I’d gone now. R was there. Nico was there. And a host of other people I know in LA. Damn. Oh well. I was far far too tired and the weather, to be honest, frightened me a bit. The rains coming down were thick and fast. I’d had enough. Bed called.