I feel like it's the first day of school tomorrow. I've been running around the apartment getting my paperwork and supplies ready, my bag packed and picking out an outfit for what will be my first day of work in nearly two years. And I am SO excited!

To backtrack a bit, I had a really successful interview with that French speaking recruiter a couple of weeks ago. She sent me on to interview with the company she was recruiting for that same week. It was a terrifying experience.

By this time, I had been sick with what was probably laryngitis or strep-throat for more than a week and my sexy-phone-operator voice and coughing fits did not make it any easier to interview in a language I'm still struggling to speak. I met with the human resources director for the company and found myself having an incredibly hard time understanding her. At one point, my focus during the interview seemed to shift from highlighting my qualifications to stifling my persistent coughs. As I sat in her corner office with a perfectly centered view of the world's most famous radio tower, I realized that this was my chance to get my foot in the door, and I was scared I was letting it get away because of a stupid cough. A few minutes into what was becoming a train wreck of an interview, she excused herself from the conversation to read through what the recruiter had sent her detailing my qualifications and requirements. I used those precious few minutes to gather my thoughts and come up with a way to get back on track with the interview.

When she returned to continue the Q&A with me, I did everything I could to assure her that I was well qualified for the job, that I was ready to continue my career, and that I would be a great fit with the company. She seemed mostly pleased with what I had to say and eventually asked me to sit down with the person whose position I was interviewing for to get more details about the job. This time it was in English, and I have to say that I felt rather confident when she said she'd be in touch, which is why it was so surprising to me when a week passed by and I hadn't heard a thing. Not a "yes" or a "no" or a "we're still thinking it over" - rien.

I thought back about what could've gone wrong; about my qualifications and French speaking skills; about my fumbled interview with the HR director. And, I convinced myself that I was just not cut out for the job.

Then, the next day, someone calls me late in the evening from the same company but from an entirely different department. She explains that her boss received my CV from HR and wanted to see me the next day for a job in their department. I was baffled about who this person was, why they wanted to see me so soon and what type of position they were recruiting for. Up until this point, I'd been dealing entirely with the recruiter and I started wondering if this phone call was even legit. Despite not having much time to prepare for the interview - especially for one that's for a mystery job in a mystery department - I got myself up the next morning, put on my suit and heels, and made my way to the fanciest street in Paris to see what was going on.

It turns out that the job is quite different from the one to which I previously applied, but it's slightly more intriguing. I met with the entire team that same day, and I was really surprised at how perfectly matched I seemed to be for the opening in their team. They must've been equally surprised because they offered me the job less than two hours after I bounced out of their office with a grin on my face.

I still don't know why my CV was passed along or what became of the other job, but I'm chocking it all up to fate. It amazes me how all of the pieces just fell into place, and I'm so astonished at how incredibly well my new job suits me (despite the fact that it's mostly in French, bien sûr). Tomorrow's my first day, and I might end up hating or loving my time there, but I've got to say that I've always put my faith in fate and it would seem that it has yet to ever steer me wrong.

It's nearly 5 a.m. and I can't sleep. Besides the fact that I "may be coming down with something," my mind is going at full speed, churning with French adjectives while my stomach does a similar dance as it moves from queasiness to fluttering over my conflicted feelings of hunger and excited anticipation. You see, I haven't been completely open about what's been going on in my life lately mostly because what's been going on seemed so mundane, boring and depressing. Ever since I returned to Paris, I've been struggling to find my way out of a big, messy confusion over what comes next. I think I'm at one of those profound moments in my life where I need to make some big decisions about the direction I want to take, and I haven't been very successful with sorting through my thoughts adequately, nor eloquently. But, within a matter of hours, it seems, some things happened that gave me the boost I've needed towards regaining the composure and confidence I'd lost in all my messy introspection.

I didn't mention this before, mostly because I was scared of the possibility of failure and then the subsequent explanation of failure I'd have to provide, but the day after I flew back to Paris, I interviewed for a part-time office job that I had learned about through a friend while on vacation. It was for a short-term contract that started in mid-September and ended just before Christmas, and it was right up my alley both in terms of my expected career path and timeline. It also seemed like a job that would provide the perfect scenario for our situation: by the time Gui received his green card, my work contract would be expired and we'd pack up our things and make our move to the US, all the while, I'm working and we're saving a bit of money for the big move. Well...I didn't get the job. And, although the rejection had nothing to do with my qualifications (so I was explained), I was very discouraged and demoralized after receiving it.

I spent some time afterward rethinking everything - pondering my life and its meaning, my career path and its direction, and analyzing every step I'd taken that had gotten me to this point: jobless and insecure. My apathy reached the point where it was rubbing off on Gui, and for a few days I convinced myself that perhaps I was tainted goods, no longer cut-out for the real working world in which I was once a fearless contributor.

However, having amazing friends and family, as I do, my apathy was greeted more and more with reassurance and faith, and I was convinced to pick myself up, shake myself off and get back to hitting the pavement. So, I worked on my CV and for the past week or so, I checked Paris job-banks daily - sometimes twice or thrice daily - for any job that caught my interest. At first, I was a bit disappointed with my search - it seemed every job that appealed to me and matched my qualifications required a fully bilingual candidate. And, although my French skills are far beyond what they were when I did this whole job-search thing the first time around, I'm still far from fluent (oh, how naive I was way back when I thought 6 months would be enough time to master the French language). Still, I sent my CV and lettre de motivation out to the few posts I found requiring an English-speaker, and I hoped for the best. After a few days, I started getting anxious about the lack of responses, but I trudged on with my daily routine of scouring the web for anything at all enticing to my newly-determined self. Then, on Wednesday, I received a late-afternoon phone call from a company I'd submitted my profile to last week for a job I wasn't exactly head-over-heels for, but still curious about. They asked me a few questions relating to my schedule preference, my education and background and my salary requirements. Then, they asked me to come in for an interview today. I was stoked about the interview, if not equally so about the possibility of a job, but there are a few things about the position that make it less than ideal. The most notable is that it's a part-time job with no possibility of ever becoming full-time. Nonetheless, I regained a bit of lost confidence from receiving the call and went about my day. Then, just before bed on Wednesday, Gui and I were talking about how the job-hunt was going, and I decided to open up my computer to get his feedback about some postings I'd seen earlier in the day. We came across an interesting ad that I hadn't seen before for a position that really intrigued me. I was a little worried about sending in an application since the job was posted back in mid-September, but I got over it and stayed up until after 1 a.m. fine-tuning my CV and LOM before clicking the send button. To my surprise, I awoke this morning to find I had missed a call from the job's recruiter, who was contacting me not more than 10 hours after I'd submitted my application. But, as refreshing as it was to be contacted so quickly, I was less than charmed about returning a call to the very French-speaking recruiter. After replaying the message about five times to catch all the details, I jotted down a few things to say in French, took a deep breath and pressed talk.

My call was answered and after explaining who I was and why I was calling, I politely asked if it would be OK to continue the interview in English. I knew that asking to do this could jeopardize my candidacy, but I explained that although I can understand and speak quite a bit of French, I don't feel like I can adequately express myself in a professional manner. To my surprise, my request was met with the explanation that although the job would be conducted almost entirely in English, working and living in France requires that I learn the language, so it would be to my benefit to continue in French. This was followed by a reassurance that my niveau of French seemed quite impressive, so much that I shouldn't be worried about not being able to express myself. And, with that, I pulled up my theoretical boot-straps and impressed even myself with how competently I was able to articulate my qualifications and communicate my interest in the job. When it was all done, I had secured an interview and could barely recall that the whole thing had been done in a language I thought I barely knew. I was thrilled!

I'm not sure if things will go as well for me during the interview, but I've accepted the fate of both possible outcomes. I realize that this could end with another rejection and then the admittance of said rejection, but really, I'm fine with that - it's just life. More than anything, I'm taking away from this small success a renewed positive perspective about what lies ahead. I feel like I've awakened my inner businesswoman and reminded myself of my worth. Knowing that the direction I'm taking demands confidence, optimism and above all, patience should help me stay on track and endure the inevitable bumps I'll come upon while navigating down this road. Wish me luck!

It was a rough ride home and I came back to Paris more than 30 pounds lighter than I left Dallas (damn you, Air France for your crazy expensive and restrictive luggage allowances!). I decidedly and emphatically hate trans-Atlantic travel. But, man, is it good to be back home! There's something to be said about one's own bedroom. It's not like my time in the States was anything less than spectacularly comfortable (we had our own bedroom and bathroom for more than an entire month), but it's the whole living-out-of-luggage and using travel-size toiletries thing that gets old fast. And after nearly two months of bouncing around from here to there, it feels good to be back in the saddle of my everyday life.

And Paris. Lovely Paris. I'm so glad I came back when I did: when summer is winding down and autumn is but an arm's-length away. This is my favorite time in Paris. At home, we restocked the fridge, gave our place a good scrub, opened the windows and let the late summer breeze air the place out. I've managed to reunite with some missed faces and catch-up on what's been buzzing around the city while I've been AWOL. Yesterday, we took to the Marais to see a friend's artwork on display at the Galerie Thuillier, then spent the rest of the day meeting up with like-minded friends soaking up the perfect Paris day. We even caught up with the techno parade running down boulevard Saint Germain for a few minutes of people watching and leg-shaking. I think I finally understand the French obsession with techno music - even the most rhythmically-challenged person can keep the beat.

So, la rentrée has been pretty pleasant and painless and my moleskin is once again filling up with things to do (I've got a carte de sejour renewal coming up this month) and places to go (a close friend recently moved to Bordeaux, so a trip is in the works). Not to mention that there's the looming green card business to take care of for Gui and dates to be set for our impending return stateside. But it's nice to feel like life is carrying on after such a long hiatus. I'm happy to be home and right now, Paris is the only place I want to be!

There have been a couple of times in the past few weeks when I sat down to update my blog, but gave up after trying and failing to gather all of my thoughts into one focused and understandable blog post. My mind has been going in every which way since I've been on vacation, and I hardly know where I am these days.

Being back in Austin has been so amazing, albeit completely exhausting. My original intention when coming back for my long visit (I've been here since the end of July, people!) was to catch up with family and friends, get reacquainted with my hometown and scout out the job market. And, I can say that I've done exactly what I'd intended to do during these past weeks, although with mixed results.

Getting back into the groove of the city took longer than I'd expected it to. When I first arrived, I felt really confused about where my place was here and what my feelings were about our impending return to Austin. But, slowly and surely I regained a bit of an identity with the city, identified where I fit in and remembered clearly why I want so badly to get back to this place (and no, it's not just for the food). While Gui was here with me, we reunited with friends, caught up on old times and fell back into the swing of life as if we were still locals. After Gui returned to France, I was unexpectedly (although gladly) asked to spend a week in Dallas, to help out with my newborn nephew. As happy as I was to spend some time bonding with baby Xavier, the week away from Austin put a bit of a kink into my job-hunting plans. I never intended to find a job during my time vacationing in Austin, but I wanted to test the waters, so to speak, and check out what kind of market I'd be diving into upon our return. I wasn't really able to do that while I was in Dallas, so when I returned to Austin last week, I was determined to make some progress. What I quickly discovered though, was that this city's job market is nothing like it used to be and I'd be going up against some stiff and brutal competition. Giving myself a week to square away solid leads was an unrealistic goal, so I made the decision to back off and forget about job search until Gui and I have a more concrete strategy and timeline for moving back.

Now, I know this sounds ridiculous, but being on vacation for so long has been a lot more difficult than I had imagined it could ever be. Thank goodness we're blessed with the most hospitable and loving friends anyone could ever dream of having. There's just no way we could have enjoyed our time here so much nor been more comfortable than we have been had they not been so extraordinary. What's been so exhausting for me, is the traveling I've had to do to see my family that doesn't live in Austin anymore. Being here for so long, I've found myself planning and playing as if I've already moved back. I started yoga classes again, reestablished some new and old favorite hot-spots and spent some time going up and down the aisles of my favorite grocery stores. I've reconnected. So, it's hard to imagine that this is my last weekend in town for a while; that after a short stint in Dallas and Kansas, I'll be back in Paris - back to my life and my home. I'm hoping, though, that by the time my plane takes off from DFW airport, I'll have a better sense of what's important to me now and what our next step will be. I'm hoping that my mind will be more settled and focused - aimed and locked in one, solid direction.

It's crunch time and with only two full days left before we start vacationing, I'm scrambling to tie up some loose ends, organize our apartment and get everything packed in time for our Wednesday flight. In the midst of all this sorting and packing, I'm noticing a trend with my packing rationale, and I'm starting to realize how segregated my wardrobe is. Living in two different yet equally dashing cities has caused a multiple-personality disorder in my closet. It's interesting to see how how many articles of clothing I have hanging or folded that have never seen the light of a Paris day. And, it's crystal clear to me that my fashion sense is split up into two very distinct wardrobes.

My Paris wardrobe is so much younger, edgier and totally trendy. Black flats, low-heeled boots, tapered-leg jeans, tunics, and layering sweaters in monochromatic tones. Practical streetwear for my city-girl lifestyle. And my rain boots and umbrella are always within arms' reach in the likely event that the rain clouds roll through after a perfectly sun-drenched morning. Ah, Paris.

Contrastingly, my non-Paris wardrobe (or I suppose my Austin wardrobe) consists of flip-flops, multicolored tank-tops, strappy stilettos, pumps and sandals, tube-tops and patterned dresses. Anything that I can get an even tan in while running around during the day or be comfortable walking in from the parking garage to happy hour in the evening. Rarely is there a need for sweaters or boots, umbrellas or coats, yet a week's worth of swimsuits are always on hand should a spontaneous trip to the pool or lake be required.

Sifting through my "take" and "don't take" piles, it's pretty clear to see the lines that divide my two-faced wardrobe - comfort and color. Paris is a walking city, and that's pretty evident by the amount of flats and low-heels that I'm planning to leave behind while I'm vacationing in Austin. I thought I'd wean myself back into wearing longer talons by sporting a pair while out on the town last night, and man did I remember quickly why heels and Paris just don't mix! It's just as well, though because I seem to fit in well enough with the flat-shoe-sportin' boho crowd that I frequently find myself surrounded by. And, as funky as I consider my Parisian-leaning wardrobe to be, I find it's far less colorful than its American counterpart. I don't know why exactly, but I've somehow managed to steer far away from the festive hues while running through the rues. I'd like to think that it's a side-effect of the less-than-festive attitude I've adopted since becoming a resident of the "least friendly European city," but I'm pretty sure it's simply a case of wanting to fit in. Bright colors can get big stares here and I'm of the kind that favor blending in more than sticking out, so I tend to keep it neutral.

I'm excited about stepping back into my heels without the added worry of how far the walk will be to the metro, and I'm looking forward to going strapless once again without the added self-consciousness that comes from gawking, sleeve-wearing pedestrians. Paris may be the best-dressed city in Europe, but although I'd like to think that I contributed to that title, I'm pretty sure I stayed at home when they took that survey. So, I'm enthusiastically leaving comfy and drab behind for these next few weeks to remind myself what it feels like to be part of a fashionable world without paying mind to the typical concerns of a foot-traveler. Which, coincidentally, gives me another excuse to do some shoe-shopping.

I don't remember when it happened. I just remember being surprised at how real and perplexing my feelings were. How could it be that just when Gui and I start to get serious and down-to-business about our plans to move back to Texas, I begin to have emotional attachment issues with my current home? I suppose it was crazy for me to never consider that I'd be sad about leaving Paris; that I'd miss the place and people; that I'd be nostalgic about our impending departure. Well, I am.

Although nothing is set in stone, yet, there is a very real possibility that I could be employed before heading back from our upcoming Texas vacation, meaning that our far-flung plans to live back in Austin could be a reality before the year is over. We've started the paperwork for Gui's green card, and despite what we've read on websites and forums, the lovely lady at the consulate told us that we could have the answer to our petition in just a few months (given that we do and provide everything that we're asked to). 'Gotta hand it to us Americans for our efficiency.

Still, as the possibility of leaving Paris looms over me, I find myself feeling overwhelmingly conflicted about my sentimental feelings. This is not going to be as easy of a step to take as I had presumed, and that makes me both surprised and concerned. What if we're not making the right decision to move back now? What if we fall on our faces? What if I get there and realize I want to be back in Paris? Well, I don't really know the answers to any of these questions, but I suppose I'll never know without giving it a shot, right?

Taking the cue from my sister, I've decided to pull myself back from my blogging hiatus with a summary post of what things are looking like 'round here these days. I hardly know where to start! The most notable difference in my life right now are my eating habits. Last week, I had all of my wisdom teeth removed during what I like to refer to as a nightmarish, hell-of-an-operation. My bottom teeth were impacted and, as the doctor confirmed, presented a few difficulties during the surgery. Beside the pain, puffy cheeks and complications from the surgery, the after-effects from the general anesthesia left me feeling like my mouth had been in a fight with Edward Scissorhands. I know time heals everything, and as I start to recover from the trauma caused by my everyday dental operation, I'm realizing how typical my experience really was. That's not to say I'd ever do anything like that again, but I find comfort in knowing I'm not the only one who suffered so horribly. Is that bad?


Gui and I are preparing for our big Texas trip coming up in about two weeks now. It's hard to know where to even begin planning such a long trip; I'll be gone for nearly two months and Gui's coming back after one month. Of course we have plans to see family, I've got my 10-year high school reunion to attend (yikes!), and we'll be making the rounds to see our friends and their families. But, I guess we're mostly looking forward to taking a peek at what our lives could be like living back in Austin. We've started the paperwork for Gui's green card, and I've been scouring the web for jobs and polishing my CV in preparation for the impending job-hunt. Until now, the idea of moving back had been more of a surreality than reality, but if all the chips fall into place as we hope, I could be starting a new job while I'm still on vacation. The job market is a vastly different place in Texas than it is in Paris, and that's something I'd sort of naively forgotten. Over dinner last night, we went over possible scenarios and tried to work out details for dilemmas we might find ourselves in, but it's just impossible to know how it will (or won't) all work out. We're resolved to go at it confidently, but aware of the reality of our situation and the possibility of disappointment.

So, these days, I'm spending my time recovering and planning, although I wish I was spending more time using the new sewing machine I purchased a couple of weeks ago.

It's nothing fancy, but it's got a European plug and I was hoping when I bought it that it would be the creative catalyst I feel is missing my from vie quotidienne. I still have a couple of weeks before vacation starts, though and I'm thinking I might be able to crank something out for one of my new nephews who are scheduled to arrive soon. And, can I just say how stokedI am for a family full of boys?!

I can't stop thinking about the passengers on flight 447, about their families, their friends and loved ones who are trying to make sense of it all.

It just makes me feel so unbelievably sad.

And lucky, and slightly apprehensive.

Is it crazy that I'm still holding out hope that they might all be floating around the Atlantic on life boats waiting to be rescued? Crazy or not, I'm hoping and praying.