It’s a curious thing.
I don’t mean to sound macabre but I’m feeling a bit philosophical and whimsical.
If it’s possible to feel whimsical about things of such a heavy nature.
I’ve had a fair bit of death in my life, and as time passes I’m able to look back on some of it and even giggle.
Of course, most of the time there isn’t very much that’s funny about death at all. Unless you’re reading the Darwin Awards.
Most of the time death is a vicious, sad, horrible and frighteningly inevitable part of life. which means, that on the odd occasion when something is funny about death, I have to seize it and run like a cheetah for all I’m worth.
Laughing in the face of fear is often the only weapon we have to combat it.
Sometimes I wonder if I have a sensitivity chip missing, or if I’m trying to protect myself with humor.
And I think, no, perhaps I’m just a little more twisted than even I give myself credit for.
And I think it’s genetic.