A Few Good Deaths

I've been having weird dreams lately, and I couldn't figure out what they were all supposed to mean, or if they had any meaning at all. But yesterday, I think I found my meaning. We could've perished in a domestic accident had it not been for my weird dream. In my dream, a friend and I were headed home from work and hailed a taxi. As soon as we got in, an awful smell immediately assaulted our olfactories. I signaled to my friend this discovery by waving my hand rapidly up and down whilst pinching my nose. It was an unnecessary gesture, as she already had her hand over both her nose and her mouth. It smelled of sweat and gym socks in that there cab, but we were already moving, and it was so hard to get a taxi in those parts. So we stuck it out. We were laughing quietly a little later when the smell changed. It became smoky, like barbecuing a pair of overused gym socks. I mouthed "Geez!!" to my friend who chocked back her laughter. The driver raised his eyes to the rearview mirror and looked at us. Suddenly, he turned into a burnt piece of flesh, and I screamed and screamed as a great smoke took over the whole cab.

Then I woke up. There WAS smoke in my room. I ran out to the hallway where there was MORE smoke. I stifled a scream, just so I wouldn't inhale too much of the smoke, and ran back inside my room where I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my head [at this point, I felt very heroic and smart about grabbing the towel, like those gorgeous firemen in Third Watch would've asked me to]. I slowly made my way to the kitchen where, on the stove, a pot of shrimp was smoldering. My mom had fallen asleep while waiting for it to cook. Being a sissy, I ran to my mom's room, screamed my head off to wake her up, and told her that she needed to do something quick. My poor mom jumped up, turned off the fire, turned on the exhaust fan, and started to right the house. My brothers were in their room, which was right next to the kitchen, sleeping like babies.

So. Am I a hero, or what?

After that close brush with death, I felt so thankful for surviving the potential fire. I mean, if I was going to die at the age of 22, I would rather it be of something a little less domestic. Something more amusing, perhaps. My friend Marj suggested a few good deaths, to which I added my own:

* Death By Chocolate - But that's awfully over-rated, I say.
* Death By Repetitive Music-Playing
* Death By Potato Chips -Some of which are on the chin still at the time of death. But how unglamorous.
* Death By Korean Soap Operas -Possibly in the middle of a confrontation between the poor leading lady and the leading man's rich snob of a mom.
* Death By Lack Of Imagination
* Death By Arrogance
* Death By Excessive Celebration of Youth
* Death By Confusion
* Death By Conceptual Overload
* Death By Excessive Thought
* Death By Hardened-Booger Pursuit [i.e. pangungulangot]

"Dying is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well."

- Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963); U.S. poet and novelist.