Ah, ’tis been a crappy day, in some ways.

Omniously enough, it started out alright, with me and my flatmate Håvard watching “Hush” while eating dinner. And that episode is still one of the show’s (or at least the season’s) best ones; it’s funny, it’s scary, it has major turning points in the lives of both Buffy (who finally kisses Riley), Willow (who meets Tara), and Xander (who discovers and proves that his feelings for Anya goes beyond the merely sexual), and it has a theme which, in spite of some early comments from Buffy’s dream Walsh, manages to remain subtext throughout the episode, even though it’s really obvious it’s there. A great episode, but it might be too light in the pathos departement to be among the show’s best. But it’s close.

Here, however, my luck ran out. Håvard and I had talked Kalle, another flatmate, into joining us for a walk (a wonder upon wonders, I might add), and it was during this walk that things went wrong. Because you see, the path we had chosen was at one point partly blocked by a bar attached to a pole by the road. It was a warm and nice spring morning (ehem, more like afternoon), I felt rested and well, and I was in good company, so I thought I’d jump over this bar by supporting my weight on it by way of my arms, and take a leap to throw my legs over it.

Naturally, this plan went wrong. It turned out the bar wasn’t as fixed as I’d thought it to be, and as I placed my weight on it and my arms and slung myself into the air, the bar swung somewhat. My leap was aborted midstride, and I fell down onto this bar, one leg on each side. My first thought was to praise all kinds of deities for my long legs, but this initial relief was soon burned away like dew before the sun (ooh, look at him, translating Norwegian idioms directly to English! :o ) as a searing, nauseating pain spread out from my shoulder. Apparently, my shoulder’d come off its joint, or the sinew had been really stretched or something, because I was in so much pain I was unable to stand. And soon after sitting down my breakfast decided it’d rather spend the day in the sun than in my stomach.

Uncomfortable as this was, I still regarded it as a natural reaction to the excruciating pain, but Håvard and Kalle (especially Håvard) weren’t as easily calmed, and before I’d had the chance to protest Håvard’d called one of his friends (the poor girl was busy finishing her Master thesis) and she’d agreed to drive us to the hospital. Here my luck returned, for the guy in the semi-emergency agreed with my estimation of the situation. He said the vomiting was a result of the pain, and that so long as I was able to move my arm without passing out from pain, I’d be OK with a little rest. Naturally, my arm’ll hurt like hell for a few days, but that should be it. And pain is only temporarly. (Also, pain is an illusion, illusions are magic, magic is circus, and circus is fuuuun! :D )

The rest of the day wasn’t too bad. Kalle and I saw “Spider-Man 3″ in the cinema, and later “X-Men 2″ on DVD, and ate ice cream.

I’ve got four unreviewed movies that I’ve watched in the last 8 or 9 days, but I’m not in the mood to review those now. Instead, I will simply make a remark about the uncanny resemblance between Tony Blair and Tim Curry’s Cardinal Richelieu from the 1993 flick “The Three Musketeers”. Uncanny, I say! :lol:

Oh, and:

“You’re a god among insects. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”