I saw that there was another thread about guessing your life expectancy, so I thought I’d start one in which we all predict the cause of our own death. Here goes:
Brain cancer (or some kind of terminal brain illness) in my late 30s.
I see myself going out in a blaze of glory. Preferably Hayduke style, fighting for something I believe in. Either that or I’ll shoot my mouth off to the wrong person & get killed for it.
Probably heart attack or stroke.
My diet is all kinds of terrible, and a lot of it consists of a crapload of salt.
A car, a garden hose, and a garage the day before I am committed to Assisted Living. Probably around age 95.
Suicide by cop.
Colonel Mustard in the Study with a Candlestick.
Serious answer: Probably a heart attack, maybe in 60’s or 70’s.
I am convinced that I will die is some extremely embarrassing way. Freak washer dryer accident, accidental asphyxiation by bathrobe sash, infected cat scratch… Something that although my friends and family will be sad, they won’t be able to discuss it without smirking.
At 95 years old, shot by a jealous husband.
I was going to say car accident, but choking to death while reading a post by MeanOldLady also seems feasible.
In a hail of gunfire, with my hands locked around the throat of a dead cop.
In a flaming car, careening off an overpass at 120 mph into traffic below, which explodes when it hits the ground.
Probably tomorrow but maybe Saturday.
Motorcycle crash.
Heat death of the universe, if I have anything to say about it.
Heart attack. I’m a type 2 diabetic, so the odds are pretty good. Although, I do take care of myself and monitor my blood sugar, so maybe I’ll make it long enough to get hit by a bus instead.
In order of most to least likely:
suicide
car/other vehicular accident
heart disease/stroke
cancer
I’d say stress-induced heart attack or aneurysm in my 40s.
In reverse order of probability:
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Walking along the street minding my own business, crossing a street with the light and right-of-way, hit by a moron with a cell phone and a sense of entitlement. I picture my body flying across the street and being embedded (head first, feet sticking out at about a 45 degree angle) in a storefront, then being left there as an object lesson to all and sundry. I am a defensive walker, so this is not so likely.
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Starving to death or being killed for my last scrap of food, in the coming economic disaster that Harry Browne has been predicting since 1974. Maybe I should have put this one first (as least likely).
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Over 85, all the people I cared about have died, all the things that make life desirable have faded away, and I am unable to care for myself any more. I will turn my face to the wall and die.
Roddy
Being diagnosed with a terminal disease, chartering a plane, and jumping out of it.
Extreme old age, possibly 135 years.
No scratch that, I am going into “coldsleep”.
I’ll be sitting here just quietly working and typing on my screen when all of a sudden