Mystery of the grumpy, frumpy neighbor

I find myself incredibly creeped out this morning by a recent incident that happened (and is still going on), though I don't know why it's creeping me out.

Tuesday morning I happened to set my alarm to get up earlier than I normally do so that I could get to work at hour earlier. When I got out of the shower, I could hear a ruckus in the hallway outside the door to my apartment. Given that it was 5:45am, I wondered what was going on. I thought maybe there was a drunk or homeless person that somehow got in the building, roaming around and talking to himself (you live in a big city like Chicago or Seattle long enough and it's easy for these scenarios to instantly pop into your mind as possibilities). I wasn't sure if I should go out there to assess the situation, so I put my ear to the door. I could hear a man talking on a cell phone talking about the stats on a woman's blood pressure. A few minutes pass. I look through the peephole of my door and see a group of people guiding my neighbor (across the hall) out of her apartment on a stretcher. One of the EMT guys asked her a question and she responded. She looked awake. I'm guessing she had a heart attack.

Now, I'm not one of "those people" that gets in everyone's business. I know how it feels to be on the receiving end and generally am respectful of not gawking when someone has been hurt,etc. So why is this person different and leaving me creeped out in the aftermath?

I have only had one interaction with this woman in the whole time I've lived in my apartment building, so uneventful that I can't even remember the details. It might have been my the mailboxes, though more likely we shared an elevator ride together one morning or night. All I remember about my limited interaction with this woman was that she appeared to be in her 60's. I attempted to be friendly with her, offering a smile or a kind greeting. She seemed very closed off though and didn't acknowledge me at all, a grumpy and frumpy looking woman. From what I could tell, she lived alone. I don't think I ever saw her go in or out of her apartment either. Very strange.

The past few days as I have noticed the apartment door has been open at times, including right now. A little while ago I could hear the sound of paper bags being filled. Two older men who appeared in their 60's walked by carrying a few bags. As I sit and type this now I hear boxes being taped up. The neighbor isn't there. I find myself looking at her mailbox here and there, looking for signs of whether she has moved or died. Her name is still on the mailbox at this point. I even Googled her name, trying to find an obituary for her (I haven't found anything yet).

I have this bizarre yearning to know what happened. I think what creeps me out the most is that she was an old woman who lived alone. Of course, I have no knowledge of this woman's life. Maybe she was loved by many and just happened to have lived alone. Or maybe she had some health condition that requires her to move into a nursing home or assisted living...or live with family members. She didn't appear feeble or that old looking to me when I saw her though. I am pretty sure she died. What freaks me out is that I keep thinking, what if that is me someday?

Granted, I highly doubt I will become a grumpy and frumpy old lady....but what if she was lonely and had no one in her life that gave her a quality life, one of meaning and happiness, and that's what made her appear a grumpy, unpleasant woman who lived in a studio apartment?

One thing I've always been afraid of (even more so with each passing year) is being found dead in an apartment while living alone. Who would know I'm dead? How long would it take for people to notice that I'm gone? What's funny is that I'm not afraid of death itself, only in how my death is discovered by others and how it affects or doesn't affect them. I guess it doesn't matter if my body isn't found for days since I'm obviously dead, but the thought disturbs me...as does the thought of the possibility of not having lived the fullest life I wanted to live during the time I was alive.

In undergrad college, I took a psychology class (Studies in Death and Dying) that had me visit a funeral museum as well as have me write my own obituary as part of the assignments for the class. At the time, I was about 20 years old and wrote about the cause of death being hit by a drunk driver. If I were to write it now, I have a feeling I would write a more realistic way of dying.....like choking to death (literally) on my dinner because I lived alone and there was no one there to help/save me (which reminds me of one particular "Six Feet Under" episode).

Living alone truly freaks me out sometimes. So does my imagination....

Making people laugh

Making people laugh is a true art form. Unfortunately, I think it's one of those innate qualities you either have or you don't. It's one thing to crack an occasional joke or come up with a spontaneous one liner. Anyone can do that once in awhile. What I'm referring to is someone who is just naturally good at it....someone who can do it easily, on a regular basis, and effortlessly. It's easy to spot a "natural" apart from the person who tries too hard to be funny.

The "natural" is skilled at the delivery, timing, play on words, double entendres, and subtle nuances. It's been my observation that some people can more easily get away with sarcasm (I'm typically not one of them), perhaps due to their overall personality and general style of communicating with others. I've noticed something lately. Of all the people in my personal life I like most (family and friends), they all have one particular quality in common: the ability to convey wit and/or sarcasm effortlessly (and frequently)....aka "naturals."

All these years I have mistakenly believed intelligence to be one of the qualities I admire and prize the most in my personal relationships. While I cannot minimize the importance of intelligence (not to mention kindness), I must fess up and admit I secretly am most drawn to humor. Not only am I drawn to it, lately I find myself envious of those who possess this creative characteristic. Why? I love laughing and I love hearing other people laugh. Appreciating humor in just about anything makes life more amusing and sometimes even more tolerable than it would feel without it. Honestly, I cannot make it a whole day (sometimes I can't even make it through a whole hour) without laughing several times. Laughing is secondary to breathing for me....which is why I wish I had the ability to make others laugh.

I wish I could dish out as much humor as I generously accept from my favorite funny people. I'd give anything for the same people I think are incredibly funny to hold me in equally high esteem...but alas, it's just not in the cards for me. All I can hope for is that maybe there's a quality about me that others wish they had. "I wish I could be as ____ as Katie. She's such a natural at it...."