Fury.
Just got rear-ended. Spent yesterday in Virginia (at least I didn’t get hit at 85 mph by all the nutcases on wheels out there. (do those people believe in turn signals? or not trying to clip off your front bumper? don’t they realize my car is made of plastic?) But they say all accidents happen within two miles of your home. I was stopping at the stop sign (imagine that!) at the intersection of Virginia and Wyoming. He, however, had other plans for me. After he bumped me through the stop sign, I threw it in park and nearly killed him. I haven’t been home since 9 a.m. yesterday, and here it is 11 p.m., and if I had the energy, I would have knocked him to the ground. I told him as much.
No visible damage, but I got the info anyway. Didn’t have his insurance info with him (that’s fishy). Said he’s with Progressive. I took his driver’s license info and what not. He was driving a 1987 Grand Am, so of course plowing right into my 2002 Sunfire is gonna hurt me a LOT more than it’s gonna hurt him. Dumbfuck.
I need to take Samantha Jones to the dealer because my brakes are shot anyway. Now I have a whole ‘nother reason to haul her in. Great. Just fucking great. I haven’t even made a car payment in over six weeks (damn move is killing me, between movers and new apartment). Not regretting the decision, just questioning it, at this point, for various reasons.
I have got to go. Just pissed. Just very, very pissed right now. And have to spend tomorrow in Homewood. Wonder if I can blow this retreat off if I take my car to the dealer? LOL … HRP would toast F/OM for letting me miss two consecutive beat-up meetings, I am certain! That, and I didn’t mail two proposals that were due on Friday. Oh, well!!! Cry me a fucking river. I don’t care anymore. I just can’t. No reason to.