Before I actually drove to the airport on Monday, I was mildly terrified that I would automatically drive to Dulles. I've never even driven to the economy lot at National, so, unlike my car and body's institutional memory of the Gold Lot at Dulles, at which my car spent an estimated two months last year, I would have no familiarity to draw upon. In addition, I am a huge creature of habit and my unconscious sometimes takes over when I'm travelling on my well-worn hamster track, particularly when I'm not paying especial attention (Ahem. Like all the time). Consequently, I spent much of the weekend prior to my trip muttering, National, National, National...constantly, just under my breath, as a talisman against forgetfulness.
I'm glad it worked, but I wish I could have sounded a little less like a crazy old lady.
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