It finally hit us that we are moving back to Sweden. We gave in our resignation notices (I've written quite a few in these last two months, I'm very skilled at quitting). It's my third time moving abroad and emotions are quite humble, this time I don't feel like taking tonnes and tonnes of shit with me. Everything stays here or is going to be given away. Sent some CVs around, PLEASE SOMEBODY WANT ME, I'm cute and useful.
If only I manage to get the bloody driving license before I go-go.
Only thing more worse than my driving is my drum skills:
Fred loves me, but does not want me in the band:
Borrowed happiness from the next day
and was drinking salty mineral water as a reward:
Big dawg:
Small dawg:
Listening "Köttbullar" to freshen my Swedish:
All will be OK?
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