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nothing.
    “You’re going to make it,” she said. “I know you will.”
    I shrugged, like I hadn’t even noticed that my entire professional life was a shambles. “You know what?” I said. “This is actually good news.”
    “Sure,” Anna said, not entirely convinced.
    “There are a lot of terrific opportunities out there.”
    “Absolutely,” she agreed, though we both knew that was a load of bull.
    I floundered. “Look at Chip. He got one.”
    “Uh … yeah,” said Anna.
    We stood in awkward silence for a moment.
    “In fact,” I said, trying my best to rally, “this is just what I needed. A little push from the nest. I’ve been here way too long.”
    “Right.” Anna pumped her fist in the air, playing the supportive friend role as hard as she could.
    I grabbed the very last box. “I need to take myself to the next level.”
    “Totally.”
    “Maybe to a network.”
    “Definitely.”
    “After all,” I said, “it’s only work. It’s not my whole life, right?”
    Anna opened her mouth to agree with me again, but this time, nothing came out.
    The next morning, at 1:29 A.M ., my eyes opened to darkness. I sat up pole-straight in bed and blinked until I could make out the details in my room. The shine of the TV screen on my dresser, the one on my bookshelf, the third on my storage chest. All dark and silent. I looked at the glowing numbers of my clock as it clicked over to 1:30. Nothing happened. No alarm. No music. No news to start the day. I had no reason to be awake. I had nothing to do.
    I reached over and flipped on the light, then folded my hands in my lap. Nothing whatsoever to do.
    My laptop lay on my bedside table. I’d been working on my resume the previous night before I went to bed. There really wasn’t much in the way of content. One company, several titles, a smattering of local broadcasting awards. Oscar would give me an excellent reference, I knew. The trick would be translating that into opportunity.
    I clicked through to my news bookmarks out of sheer habit, wondering if I should call Anna to make sure they were covering the minor earthquake rumbling through Nevada. But I was sure they would be. Plus, she’d probably berate me for not taking this opportunity to sleep in.
    If there was a heaven, my dad was probably there shaking his head at me right now. I know Mom was, down in Florida. She hadn’t said much when I’d left Fairleigh to take the assistant producer job all those years ago. After all, she’d never been to college, money was tight after my dad’s death, and a bird in the hand was worth the two that might be in the bush when I and the other 150 FDU communication majors graduated with BAs. The way we both saw it, I was getting a jump on the competition. At least, that’s what we’d thought back then. Apparently, a bigger jump could have been had if I’d had a trust fund and ten years to net myself an Ivy League MBA and a journalism degree. What was real-world experience compared with a string of letters after your name?
    “Real-world experience.” That wasn’t all I’d dreamed television news was back then, watching the evening news with my dad. I’d seen Mike Pomeroy almost get blown to bits in Kosovo. I’d stared in rapture at the screen as he’d braved Hurricane Andrew to report in Florida. I’d listened as he’d interviewed Nelson Mandela days after his election in South Africa. And I knew that television news was where I belonged.
    I clicked through to YouTube and typed “IBS evening news Nelson Mandela” into the search box. Forget C-SPAN and FOX News this morning. If I was going to get back in the game, I needed a little old-school inspiration. Four weeks later, I was zero for forty on job applications. I’d started with the big guys, of course, though in retrospect, I probably should have waited on a few of those until I’d finessed my resume a bit. Or at least, that was the impression I’d gotten from the hiring manager at Good Day, Tampa