I've decided not to be neurotic anymore. I want to be less Woody Allen and more Woody Harrelson. More natural born killer than petite asian-o-phile.
That means no more cancerous growth scares or self-aggrandizing visions of my own death in a Dutch meat shredder or something.
Here are all the ways I picture myself dying, so that finally I can lay them to rest:
-wedged under 18-wheeler
-cirrhosis of liver
-possession by demon
-shattered glass through heart
-great white shark attack
-alligator devouring me then stuffing my body in the mud to decay
-falling on pole and being impaled by said pole
-sudden heart failure for no apparent reason
-falling 30,000 feet from airplane to my fiery death (or landing in water and encountering shark or gator as mentioned above).
-weird "28 Days Later" disease.
-blindsided by UT bus(not terribly unlikely)
Whew. I already feel 20 lbs lighter. Like I just barfed up a heaping pile of Freudian gumbo. Mmmm, those phobic defense mechanisms sure add a little grit!
I think part of my fascination with (slash acute fear of)dying stems from a love of horror movies and melodrama. Chucky, Jason and Carrie, oh my! These movies lead me to believe that life is comprised of a series of exciting, serendipitous (and sometimes deadly...) events. When, in reality, life is boring. Like a Mellville short story. Really, we're all just craggy-faced seamen searching for a big white dick.
Let's be honest, Mellville was really more of a "Rainbow Trout" than a swordfish, right? I mean, scouring the world for a sleek sea mammal with an overactive blowhole? Puh-lease.
Unneccessary factoid: there is a gay master's swim team (AKA old folks) called the "Rainbow Trout." They are based in Atlanta. Don't ask me how I kow this, I just do.
Okay, okay. I'm actually a 56 year-old interior designer specializing in "Canine Feng Shui." I live in uptown ATL with my roommate Gary. He cries a lot.