On my way to work this morning, a squirrel sprinted across the road toward the car in front of me. It missed the little guy by a hair, but when he got across to the other lane, a truck tagged him. He ran to the edge of the road where he launched himself in the air, cartwheeling toward the bus stop, as if he could fling the pain away. I was going, “Oh no! Oh no! No no no!”, and blood pumped through the veins inside my elbows making me feel nauseated and weak. I had trouble gripping the steering wheel. By the time I looked in my rearview mirror, he was nowhere in sight.
I hope he died. I hope he died fast.
And I wish the Universe would stop trying to teach me this lesson. I hate it.