"The last blog post before the blog post that comes before the last blog post" - post

Here we are at the end of our long, troublesome journey. It's the last stretch of red gravel before the finish line; the last piece of dark concrete before the black-and-white-checkered flag falls; the last street corner before Burger King - everything is coming to a glorious end with various souvenirs and foreign chocolate candy and confetti and fancy new experiences and stolen bank credentials. To celebrate this I am giving you people a major treat. I have changed the font of this blog post to Verdana. Rejoice fellow font-enthusiasts.

Before I go off and start blabbering on about my feelings and other emo crap like that I'd like to give everybody a little update on what has been going on recently. Well, as they say in good ol' Texas, I dun' goofed. For, you see, I managed to dislocate my knee cap for the second time in my life:

It all happened last Saturday at my girlfriend's relative's birthday party. We were playing a harmless children's game an extreme sport called rundbold which reminded me of baseball rugby with medieval weapons and my team was getting their asses handed to them on a silver plate. I didn't notice that I was getting tired or anything and I wasn't straining myself as far as I can recall.
But then, suddenly, I jumped up to catch a ball and I felt a sort of intense buzz in my right knee. I don't remember my thoughts exactly, but they were probably along the lines of: "Oh God, not this shit again!" I didn't know whether my knee popped to the side when I was up in the air or when I hit the ground - all I know is that I screamed my lungs off when the pain train arrived.
Fortunately I had somebody special to comfort me there (unlike the last time this happened) and that helped me calm down. The ambulance arrived relatively soon and the doc gave me some nitrous oxide to help with the agonizing pain I felt. They told me to breathe in deeply, which I did accordingly.
The pain didn't quite go away but the gas got me high so what the heck - I breathed in some more. I had to prepare for them to lift me on the stretcher, so I decided to go all out and get in as much of that funny gas as I could. This way, I reduced myself into some sort of semi-conscious state - I could feel pain, think clearly and hear things with a cool echo and when they moved me it felt like I was being covered with a blanket made of wind.
When I came out of it after about a minute I experienced a sort of hallucination - or at least that's what I think it was. Two emergency doctors opened the door to the ambulance and stepped in one after the other. The weird thing was that they both had the exact same face. I saw a third man standing behind them, but fortunately he had a different face so I could stop losing my marbles. That's when I decided that taking too many drugs is probably a bad idea.
Long story short, they got me to the hospital and patched me up. I got a cool brace for my leg as well, which I'll have to send back in a few weeks. Then I'll be able to put on my pants and shoes without anybody helping me again.
Hell, I'm nobody to criticize the way doctors who save lives on a daily basis do their job, but I'd still just like to point out some differences between the way the Estonian doctors handled the situation and the way the Danish doctors did.
For one thing, the Danes gave me N₂O while the Estonians injected me with some sort of general anesthetic. I suppose the gas is more expensive, because the trip to the hospital hurt much less in Denmark than in Estonia.
Back home they let me suffer in pain on a hospital bed for about an hour or so before they actually did anything. And even then they first got a damned x-ray image of my knee and after that they popped the sucker back into place. The Danish doc pushed it back almost as soon as I got there and after that they made some x-ray images of my knee, which seems like a reasonable thing to do considering that I was suffering from a large amount of PAIN.
The first time this happened I had to wear a cast for two weeks and then a leg brace of sorts for about a month, but I only have to wear a brace for two weeks this time - no cast. I'm not too sure why this is so, but at least I'll get to walk like a normal person sooner.
The bad thing is that if I had been forced to wear a cast then maybe I could've stayed a bit longer in Denmark with the girl I love, but that's just wishful thinking, isn't it.
In conclusion, both hospitals were quite busy and I had to wait a long time, but the Danish hospital obviously had better equipment at hand. But in the end it really comes down to the doctors - the proverbial guardian angels of today - and how they use whatever they have been given to do what they can and help those in need. Nobody should be allowed to judge those people and what they do. I should be happy they even bothered to help somebody like me - I mean, as the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail once said after having had both his arms cut off: "It's just a flesh wound."

Another thing that happened is that my English teacher decided to take a look at my written assignments at last and I received three 12's yesterday. That ought to look good on my record. (Seeing as 12 is the highest grade you can get...). Okay, I'll stop showing off now.

I have this whole week off which isn't really anything to be excited about because of that dumb leg of mine. I said good-bye to all of my classmates from 2.x with a small, fancy (magnificent) speech in History class last Friday. To be honest I never really got to know any of them, but I'm pretty sure they're all nice people. Pretty sure...

S'pose y'all want to hear a little something about my feelings and stuff like that. (At least if you're bored enough you do.) I'm not going say I miss anything from back home and even less will I begin to pretend I'm a poet with the old "I miss/love the X, the Y and the Z from back home"-shtick we've all heard before. I probably miss something from Estonia, but the problem is that I'm the kind of person who keeps everything portable. I keep my emotional attachments and whatnot on the move. I love books, but I can buy those everywhere, so there's no way for me to miss them. I love my family, but my mother calls me lazy and sloppy and my sister just wants me to join the army sooner.
And this is where I'll be having a problem when the time finally comes for me to leave. It may sound cheesy, contrived and childish to those of you who are older than me and think that age gives one some sort of leverage or right to judge the young and to those of you who think one's personal experiences give one some kind of sublime and undeniable ability to put oneself in my shoes and feel the world the way I do - it may sound like that to those few of you, but I've fallen in love with a Danish girl.
And there's no way I could just pack her up and take her with me. There's also no way for me to stay here and live the life of a vagrant in the name of love. I will, at last, have something to miss now. Back home what do I really have? Lots of homework and some canned food. But here in Denmark I have somebody to smile to and hug and say the nicest things to.
People call me cynical and sometimes too sarcastic, but hey I'm still human. Just because I write cynical things doesn't mean I'm an emotionless potato sack who is unable to express affection or any of those other girly things.
Well, maybe I got a bit carried away with that last part - I tend to do that a lot. And to those of you who think of saying something along the lines of "Oh you're young and you'll find someone else" or "You're too young to know what love is" or some other such condescending, ignorant horse****, you can shove that right up your grandmother's easy-bake oven.
That's about as personal as I'm willing to get on this subject. I'd prefer not to see any comments from the peanut gallery about it. I wrote it all just to illustrate how I feel right now.
And I haven't lost heart yet. I barely even think about all of that right now. There's no point in mourning over the loss of something when one hasn't lost it yet. I still have a couple of good days left with that special someone. It's not the end of the world yet and it won't be the end of the world when I leave.
Sadness is just a bunch of crap - hey, it's not the most profound statement you've ever heard, I know, but it's easy to understand at least.
How about this: In the grand scheme, living is basically walking through a shallow ocean of mud with no shoes on. You get stuck and you fall in face first and some of the mud gets into your underpants. And then you feel like you are mud, you feel like you deserve all this smelly crap on your shoulders, in your crack and then at last you find an island made of nothing but grass. And the sun shines on you and the mud dries off and the rain washes it away. And you get to feel like grass under sun.
Not too poetic or anything, but it gets my point across.

That's about enough for the feelings-part of this post. Come to think of it, right now I don't have anything else to write. I'm tired because of my leg and all the pressure we're going to be put under when we get home. I guess that's what we deserve - more work. My mind isn't working right and I don't know what to write.

Don't take this post too seriously guys - I don't know what I'm writing, good night.