Bad week

It started when I drove into a raccoon, which writhed in pain in the street for a minute before righting itself and limping away, in not dying leaving me with a profound sadness, waking up the next morning thinking of it waking up, with its wounds that much more swollen, its ability to feed itself and go about its normal business of trashcan investigation dreadfully thwarted... I felt like garbage. Then, as if in retaliation, the next evening some crackhead emerged from the cemetery at NE 18th Street, broke into my car, and stole my dirty underwear and a pair of five year-old running shoes. Just the little vent window but still. Then, today, already a bad day, a day when I was brimming with tears for no reason from morning on, I got fucking rear-ended at a stoplight by some British matron, whose husband informed me that they would rather not pay through their insurance company, leaving me with a bit of a dilemma. Be kind and let them? But they're rich, given their address, so why not make them pay and probably get a fucking rental car in the process, since I was just trying to go home and change a skirt I spilled on before an interview, and didn't ask to get rear-ended by a Silver Jeep Cherokee, womanned by Brit who lives on the most exclusive private island in Biscayne Bay and calls me "darling." The problem is I can't deal with any of this without bursting into tears, and you can imagine how my car looks right now. Fucking hell. Seeking a well-appointed cave.