so, here i am, reclining in my bed after a day of, well, let us call them events.

having checked essays and other student not-so-creative writing till 2 AM, i got up at 7:30, did some hectic running about the house and breakfasting, and then got to the shower at about 8. and then i slipped.

no, i did not fall. but in the attempt to recover my balance, i apparently (it all happened so fast, you see) kicked my right foot against the bottom of the shower door, and awkwardly hit my left arm against the same door.

when it all was over i had a 2 inch gash on the top of my foot intersecting with a 2.5 inch …deep scratch? well, something. my arm was bruised in a number of places and the shoulder felt strange. but i had not fallen, which would have made things worse.

so, i took the shower, expressing my feeling in the known languages unprintably, washed the gash properly, glued it shut as much as i could, and limped to work. i have to admit, the students were very understanding. i appreciate that, and the care. thanks, guys.

and then, on my way back, i still decided to have that hole looked at. i went to one of the emergency rooms not to far from my home. that was something of an experience. of course, i did not look like i was dying or in pain (but then i seldom do, and i believe i will not look like i was dying even when i will be [dying, that is]), so they kept putting me off in the queue. in no less than an hour i got registered. the person at the registration asked me for an ID, and i gave my university pass. and then she asked me whether i had a job. university, i said. it is on the ID. oh, she said, she had not noticed.

and then i was waiting for another hour. by then the people had made something entirely else from my surname, so i could not recognise it. and the guy who came to pick me up, finally asked if there was anyone with a wound in their foot. i said that was me. they said, this surname was wrong. eventually, the guy tried picking up my rucksack, containing the laptop, some groceries, student works and academic stuff, ~15 kg in all. and then he looked at me. and i limped forlornly at his side.

the nurse asked if i could speak latvian. by that time latvian was quite out of my system (because i switch to english when upset, worried, hysterical or in pain) and i had to think about it. – yes, probably, i said. everyone laughed. the surgeon looked at the gash, looked at me and said, – how?
– with a glass door, i said. he prodded about some, warned me that there might be some sting, and then injected the anesthetic, and put the stitches on. nine. very professionally. which i appreciate a lot.

and then i got a little slip of paper, explaining that i had a gash on the top of my foot which had been stitched, what painkillers to take, and to go to the GP. and directions to leave through the yellow door. there were two yellow doors in the corridor, one of which nobody had noticed. i took the one that was green on the other side.

and now i am home. in bed. my trusty teddy bear serving as a support for the foot.

hopefully this day will not get more eventful. plz.

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