“A lot of emotions are running high, and there are a few people in the newsroom who are teetering on resigning or staying,” the employee said. “It’s hour to hour with the way they feel, including myself. And now as far as any top people resigning, there’s no top people left.”

Somewhere along the way, Jillian stopped being so much fun. She started to get a little cranky. Maybe it was the fact that Kelly Ripa got the Regis gig she wanted. Maybe she felt marginalized as “the weather babe.” When Good Day L.A. tried going national, her spot was taken by a Jillian-lite. She still did her job, but she didn’t seem happy. She kept reminding us she was on antidepressants.

Worse, and perhaps defiantly, she seemed to be internalizing something she used to wink at: the caricature of her as a sex object. Her knockout body went from playing a supporting role in her persona to taking the lead. Her photo shoots got racier. There was talk of doing a Playboy spread. Yeah, she flashed glimpses of the old, goofy Jillian, the beautiful train wreck with nine adopted pets at home, smarter than she lets on. But her characteristic self-deprecation appeared to have given way to a darker self-absorption. I tuned in only sporadically.

But when on a whim I turned on Good Day L.A. the other morning, there she was showing off pictures of her with her new husband. They got married in a small ceremony over the weekend in her backyard. She looked resplendent in a white dress and a flower crown.