Yes. This happened. On Tuesday.
My hatred of people who cut you off on the highway without using a signal where your only choice is to swerve to avoid or slam into their back-end at a high-speed has now just reached stratospheric levels.
No, I did not need to go to the hospital. Yes, amazingly enough, I not only walked away, my 2001 Saturn SL1 drove away. (Luckily my car had spun on the slush and hit said concrete divider from the rear, rather than the front.)
Now I have to wait for the insurance company to determine whether my car is totaled. Do I have to say that it does not look good? Because it so does not.
Fan-fucking-tastic. I was so close to be completely debt-free. Here I was, just about to pay off every credit card debt (now under $2,200!) by the end of April thanks to my annual bonus and...and...THIS!
Fuck me. Just...fuck me.
(Some might argue that I'm focusing on the wrong thing here, namely, that I should be focusing on the fact that I didn't get so much as boo-boo and that if the worst you're suffering after any accident that slams you into a concrete wall at 60-fucking-miles-an-hour is sore muscles, than maybe you should be a tetch more grateful for breathing. Which I am. Trust me. But I seriously feel like fucking whining right now because I hurt, and I have to wait until Tuesday to find out whether I keeeelled my car or not.)
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