Someone told me yesterday that public speaking is the number one phobia in the world. Death is number two. I suppose it’s reassuring to know I’m not alone because I have an almost paralyzing fear of public speaking. Death doesn’t scare me. A long, slow, agonizingly painful, semi-conscious dying-alone scares me, but death itself doesn’t. I think that once it finally comes, it will just be like sleeping, without the freakishly weird dreams. The thought of public speaking, however, turns my stomach in knots, my muscles seize up and I seriously consider whether or not it would be appropriate to carry a flask full of scotch or whiskey to get me through it. Ironically, I could see myself meeting death while public speaking. That would be my fate.
If I’m going to die, and I know I will, I would hope it would be something quick but spectacularly awesome. A piece of luggage falling out of a plane and crushing me instantly, perhaps. Not only that, but if the luggage belonged to a world famous public speaker. Now THAT would funny. Everyone would talk about that time a suitcase crushed someone. “Apparently she was terrified of public speaking.” they would say. “Funny how the world works sometimes…” would be the response. I used to love the television show Dead Like Me. The fact that the main character was killed instantly by a toilet seat falling from the Space Station entertains me to no end.
Being crushed by a headstone would be another fantastically ironic way to die. I love old cemeteries and gravestones. I’ve already had one body part crushed by one, but that’s another story…
The Witch of South Mountain 