I was shoo'd out of the office yesterday. After the fourth consecutive day of fourteen and a half hours my boss told me I had to go home, "before I became a liability." Mind you, at one point or another over the course of preproduction she's done this to everyone on the staff, usually after less time than it took for me. I presume this is because I never complain about how long the days are and I never ask to go home.
There's just so much to do: travel documentation, purchasing, accounting backup, shipping, provisioning, clearances, rentals, housing, transport, tax exemptions, insurance certifications, deal memos, crew lists, vendor lists, paper distro, day files, read-throughs, scouts, camera tests, fittings, catering to talent in town and to producers back on the west coast, and is it all worth it if, in the toss and tussle, you forget to do your time-card. Even sleeping six hours a night and skipping meals, there literally aren't enough hours in the day.
A new intern starts on Monday and principle photography starts on Thursday. The workload will spread and the days will be whittled down to a piddly eleven hours.
This is how movies are made. This is the life I have chosen.