I'm up early again

this morning because I had to take my mom to the airport. Come to think of it, I'll be going to the airport myself a little later on this week to visit a friend in Dallas. Maybe it's not so bad that I don't have a lot of friends where I'm located currently. It gives me an excuse to get up and go somewhere.

Once I got back from the airport, going back to sleep was not an option. I'm, unfortunately, one of those people who can't go back to sleep. Once I'm up, I'm up.

So, I did what every self-respecting girl who's up early and can't go back to sleep would do -- I got my housewife on. I whipped up a pretty superb omelet, if I may say so myself. An homage to my upcoming French experience. I can actually say coherent, conversational things in French at this point. I can talk about myself, my family, what I like to do, I can describe events in the past. I've been corresponding with my host counselor and people at my little language school in French. They think my French is good because I can write it okay, but I'm afraid they'll be disappointed when they hear me speak.

Over tea, I read a Don Miller interview from a link sent to me by my go-to book guy, and it descended upon me how close my brush with destiny is! On my countdown, I have just over a week left. Reading the interview, I thought about how, in a little over a week from now, I may have an opportunity to talk to him too. But what would I say? I don't want to be a giggly groupie, but I want to impress in his mind how much his writing has truly meant to me. And the thing is, I know scores of other people have probably said the same thing to him. I want to be unique. I want him to remember me.