Well, the last few days have had quite a few crazy moments in them, and far too little sleep. Wednesday morning I wake up at around ten, quickly eat some of my favorite breakfast food, mass-produced eggs, and hop in the car and start driving south. Destination: San Antonio. Everything is going well, and around Austin I see a hitchhiker along the side of the road, and having never picked up one before, I decide, hey why not. He's a pretty cool old man, been all over the place, has lots of stories and such. I drop him off outside of San Antonio and he thanks me and all that jazz, good times. I hang out in San Antonio for a night, stay up way too late, and then in the morning have my traditional last cigarette, which is always way too early for a regular cigarette, and hop in the car for the insane ten hour drive home, which is always bad, especially on only six hours of sleep. However, the illusion of not going to San Antonio is further assisted by the fact that Ken decided to buy me a tank of gasoline in exchange for bringing home one of Kristen's suitcases full of stuff. I barely make it past the intersection of I-10 and I-20 before I run out of gas, but luckily there are plenty of gas stations around anyway, so all is well. I get into El Paso around six, and then just sort of laze around the house for a few hours, and go watch some Olympics with Jacqui. The next day I have decided to take Sebastian to lunch, and Whit comes along, so that was fun. Hang out with Mrs. Allison for a while, and then I figure I have a few hours to kill before my flight leaves, so I go over to Jacqui's house and hang out with her mom. So we are sitting there, smoking, and I figure maybe I should check to see exactly when my flight leaves. 2:15! But it's one already! Shit I gotta go. *Takes a few more drags* Alright, spray me with something, alright, alright, thank you for everything, have a good year, and I'll see you over Thanksgiving. Haul ass home, hop in the shower so that I won't smell so terrible, throw some pants on, rip the Soviet flag off of the wall, toss everything in a suitcase and make a few desperate phone calls to beg for rides before my phone's battery dies. My mom comes home, we jump in the car and race over to the airport. Unfortunately, my bag might not make it onto the plane, but I still have a few minutes. Which of course means that as soon as I step through the metal detector: "Excuse me sir, would you please step over here, you've been chosen for secondary search." Wonderful. Scan scan scan, apparently a pack of smokes sets of a metal detector wand. Run to the gate, and step onto the place as the seal the door behind me. Yet another close, frantic departure. What fun would travel be without them?