There. I said it. When I was a poor kid, our sinle mom would entertain us with funny story after funny story. We had no money to do anything else. She was a daredevil storyteller. She was able to plant herself back into the time and place of every story she recounted, mimcking voices and facial expressions while vividly displaying it every recalled emotion. If she was talking about a time she was angry, she'd become angry and her voice would resonate as if she was back facing that same person that had once ticked her off. Contrarily, she'd have to interrupt her lighter tales because she herself was laughing so hard, she would inhale making a gasping sound, before laughing again. When she got angry, we got angry. When she laughed, we laughed. She loved to tell us about the oddest characters. And I listenned. It was impossible not to.
So, inherently, I learned to laugh at things that suck. If the day before a planned vacation, the dryer needed repair and our vacation money went with it, we learned to joke about it. Because that's all there was to do. I learned to laugh at people that suck, specifically at injustice and hypocrisy. . And at a world that sucked. To make a Hallmark observation; there are some things we're powerless to change, but the ability to see ludicrousy is always within us. As much as the world sucks, it can be grandly ridiculous at the same time, and that's something.
I've been to university since, gotten a little sick (much better now), had a few problems, moved too many times to count, but this, I've always had this. This. It's never left me. Some people can sculpt. They're LOSERS. Unless, of course, they're funny sculptors. And I can count those on two clay fingers.
This is why *I* write. Does it really matter why anyone else does?