Goddess’ no good very bad horrible sneaky hate spiral of a commute, part trois
For the second night in a row, at my exit, there was a horrific crash.
Once again I could hear the impact, hear the tires as the car that was rear-ended spun out, and feel the smoke-and-gasoline smell filling my lungs.
I need to quit coming home at 8:30 at night, is all I’m saying.
God’s spared me twice, and probably a million more times over the course of my driving career. And I cannot thank Him enough for that.
But like I was telling Mom, my hour-and-a-half-ish time in the car each day is the best part of my day. Narrowly averted crashes and massive panic attacks and all. It would just be nice if the drive, the only thing that CAN go smoothly right now, actually would.