i've always known how i would die. and not in the emo-macabre way that it immediately sounds, because i hate emo more than anything. Genuine human emotions make me want to vom, let alone an excess of them, so i promise i'm not being emo. it's just -- i know how i'm going to die. the exact details are still a little hazy and open-ended, but i am fairly confident in the fact that i will meet my maker in a way that would really only be plausible on some sort of ridiculous television show, like the reverse of "I survived!" on TLC. Basically, I believe death will come to me after a series of bizarre accidents that have like a one in a million chance of actually occurring, nevermind in a consecutive sequence and to one human bean.

I'm not actually very clumsy, which might be startling. i'm just mildly retarded. I have actually had a few graceful moments in my life but they are always tempered by my inability to actually function as a legitimate human; my fourth-grade ballet recital springs to mind. i ripped that stage to shreds with my perfectly executed pirouettes. brimming with pride and ego, i pranced off stage and immediately slammed my body into a large pillar, stumbled backwards, and took out three of my peers. So it's like my body can't decide if it's human, and therefore whether or not it wants to behave accordingly or if it's a malfunctioning corporeal body. frankly, it's irritating and results in injuries both to my person and my ego.

One would think that by this time in my life, i'd be immune to humiliation. i mean, i've been publicly mortified in pretty much every way humanity has come across in the history of the world. i've slipped on ice and landed ass-up in front of crowds of people. i've peed my pants in public. (true story. i have really poor bladder control, and sometimes the combination of copious amounts of southern comfort + a rap battle between two of the whitest people i know is just too much. i thought i was going to throw up i was laughing so hard, but instead i crumbled into a little heap on the ground, and wheezed, "i'm peeeeeeeeeing!" i was. luckily, i was wearing a skirt, and being the classy girl i am i just...well, i discarded my undergarmets in a downtown trash can and continued to live my life, girl. in retrospect, not a proud life moment. WOW longest parentheticals evAR). the POINT IS, judging by my past indiscretions, i should truly have no shame. and yet, somehow, like a raccoon in the night, it keeps creeping back.

now that i've established that i have little to no control over my own body (functions and otherwise), and embarrass myself easily in public, i think you can see how i would come to the likely conclusion that i will die in a series of unfortunate events, accidentally, and through no fault other than my own. the reason why this thought has come jarring back into my mind is because i actually almost died in a startlingly similar fashion just today. i was on campus, walking home from the education department. i was by myself, but there were plenty of people out and about, milling around, being collegiate assholes and whatnot. all of a sudden, my foot hit a stick on the path. I skidded on the stick for a second, regained my footing, and metaphorically wiped the sweat of my brow. NOT FOUR SECONDS LATER did my other foot hit a divot in the sidewalk. down i went, but it wasn't just a typical fall. My huge, heavy bag swung around off my shoulder and slammed into my hip (where, coincidentally, i already have a large bruise from when i walked straight into the corner of our (wooden) futon frame. in broad daylight. with my eyes open), and i went down on my stomach, the knitting needle in my bag merely an inch from my jugular. like, REALLY world? reeeeally?

so, long-windedness aside, if you ever see an obituary that involves a tramautic fall, a rusty can opener, flailing body limbs, black ice, and seems altogether unbelievable, i've departed this dear world. and obviously, i've done it in high fashion. if you come to my funeral, you can expect ample cat stevens music, absolutely no prayers other than those sung by sir bon jovi, and a superfluous amount of alcohol that my family is inhaling under the guise of grief and self-medication. enjoy!