I can practically bring myself to tears with morbid fantasies.  When a TV commercial aired for a movie about someone getting buried alive, I immediately pictured myself meeting such a fate.  I tried to reason that of all the people I had ever known, and all the people each of them had ever known, I had never heard of anyone getting buried alive.  The odds were against it.  I mentioned this fright of going to my grave with a heartbeat to my friend Sally who told me Victorians were often buried with a cord in their hands that was attached to a bell above ground, so the person could ring in the event of an error.  A doorbell in reverse.





worry wart doorbell


It’s not that I am devoid of positive fantasies.  I sometimes imagine meeting Mr. Right and living blissfully into old age.  Somehow, though, getting buried alive seems likelier.

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