I Could Be Dead
Really, I could.
When I walk around the world, I often think of all the ways I could be dead if I was stupid. When I’m driving down the freeway at 75 miles per hour, and there are two cars on either side of me, I think to myself, “I could just ram my car into their car and we’d probably all flip end over end and create a huge pile-up on the freeway. I could even un-hook my seatbelt and my death would be ensured.”
But I never do it.
But I could.
There are times I go to grab dishwasher detergent from under the kitchen counter and I spy a whole box of rat poison. I think to myself, “I could just empty a handful of these pellets into my mouth, down them with some carbonated water and down they’d go!” I’d probably get woozy and then pass out while watching the latest edition of Punk’d on TV, but I would have done it. You see? The potential is there.
As I walk through my life I think of all the ways I could do myself in. I could open the air-hatch on an airplane while flying from L.A. to Chicago. I could stab myself with a knife. I would electrocute myself while taking a bath. I could do a million different things that would result in my death at any time in any place with any kind of shirt on or hat on.
I have all the control.
And because of that, it amazes me more people don’t die at their own hand. I mean, I guess people like living and they’re not stupid and they don’t want to end up in those Darwin Awards books, so they steer clear of strapping missle rockets to their car hoods and balancing themselves on the edge of a fence looking down into the chasm that is The Grand Canyon.
Whether or not I’ve ever tried, the real issue here is that I could be dead if I wanted to.
I just don’t want to.