Six months past due, I made my way out of Sweden earlier this month. I had gone out to Snerikes Nation the night before, having been cajoled to do so without packing-that could be done afterward. We came home at 3 and I made some meatballs and then fell asleep. I previously had thought about ways to leave: waking up to the alarm clock and serenely putting my bags in the car while bidding farewall to a collection of friends would not have been appropriate. So I awoke in a panic, fit whatever had monetary or sentimental value into the big black bag, and failed to wake up my friend with a kick to the ribs. So I wrote a vile inscription in his book and went on my way to Texas.