Monday (mostly taken up by meetings), Tuesday, Wednesday (another day consumed by meetings) and then I'm off Thursday, for the start of a two-week vacation.

I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to this, albeit with a bunch of nerves, What if they confiscate everything? What if I miss a flight? What if my luggage gets lost? What if *I* get lost?

I'm bringing suitcase, carryon, and purse. What if I forget how to count to 3?

I'm a worrier. Don't pay any attention to the woman behind the curtain. She's going to worry, no matter how well things are planned, no matter how early she arrives at the point of departure, no matter how calm and well-organized she seems.

Worry is her speciality, derived from the days when she was a little bitty child, worrying about her mother, making sure there was food prepared, making sure the house was locked up at night, getting Mom up in the morning, checking to see if Mom was still alive, still breathing. Worry is what she does best, I sometimes think. Mom was suicidal; I was always afraid I'd walk into her bedroom and find her dead.

And active approach to solutions is what reassures me the best.

The bus to LAX is called the Flyaway. I've checked the departure schedule; it leaves every half hour. It takes 45 minutes to get from my house to the Flyaway (I pass it every day on the way to work), if you factor in time to stop at Starbuck's for a cup of coffee.

It takes 30 minutes to an hour to get to LAX. I should arrive 3 hours before the flight departs. So, backing up all the hours and half hours, I should leave my house about 7 p.m. and bring a good book.

There. Now I feel better. There's something about putting my fears "out there" that makes me realize how groundless they are.