I realized something profound during this unexpected and unnecessary break: I live for news. Admittedly it is something of my own doing – sometimes. This past week I was encouraged – not forced – to live the news. The prospect of more job responsibility and a possible raise were dangled in front of my face like a Twinkie on a stick.

So my week-long break was spent within the confines of the Fox 8 newsroom. Twelve hours working, 12 hours “sleeping.” Right. How could anyone sleep with forecasters predicting a possible apocalypse for New Orleans?

This erratic schedule continued until Ivan the Terrible made landfall early Thursday morning. I happened to be lounging near the police and fire scanners at the time, and they were miraculously silent. I guess everybody in Orleans Parish listened for a change. Not one murder the entire two nights I spent waiting, listening and eating the goodies the station bought us.

Let me assure you – news folks do get delirious after about eight hours of straight broadcasting, and natural disasters have a funny way of bringing coworkers closer together. It’s either that, pull out your hair or hate your job.

I had a firsthand view of the “Idiots” of Louisiana – Blanco and Broussard especially, for all of you out-of-towners – and got to play mommy to all the agitated evacuees. When a mandatory evacuation is called in one parish and not in the neighboring parish, blame the government, not the news. Also, when they do call for an evacuation, unless the Idiots finally do something right, there will be traffic! I refuse to give anyone else advice on how to leave the city when every outbound lane is stop and go. Tell the grandma who is leading the line to drive faster and traffic will move, too.

Thank you for letting me vent. I’m not really complaining about having to live the news. It is my chosen profession and I love it. If I started complaining before I even graduate, I’ll never make network.

I realized I have worked 10 days straight, at least seven hours a shift, since Sept. 13. And I still have another two days and 18 hours ahead of me before I get a breather – unless one of the other daunting hurricanes decides New Orleans will not be spared this time.

Maybe I should ask Bob Breck if he thinks I’ll have my Saturday off to do the dozens of projects all due next week. Oh wait, then the administration may accuse him of sabotaging their syllabi.

I shouldn’t be carrying on this way. I didn’t have to sit through 12 hours of traffic or pay absurd amounts for a hotel room. I got to sit on my butt and watch TV most of the time.

You know what else I realized this past week? I’d rather be the girl who lives for news. It’s better than having your obituary read, “She died at her own hands in the absurd traffic to Baton Rouge.”