Talking of undertakers

I've found that I say "undertaker" instead of Funeral Director. I like undertaker better - they undertake to dispose of you. They take you under. They undertake to take you under. Funeral Director sounds so prissy. "I am a Funeral Director" "Wot, you work with stiffs then?" And why are we not allowed to know what happens after death? I suppose those with a religious faith "know" what happens, but what proof is there that we go on going on? Couldn't someone, just one, come back and tell us? Would it spoil some vast eternal plan? Mind you, it would be a real bummer if we KNEW we're all going to hell in a handcart. Just like if you knew when you were going to die and how. You'd spend your whole life going "oh, only 23 more years, only three more years, only two more hours...." Bloody hell, you'd never get anything done for the anxiety. Urk. feeling a bit mad at the moment. Must be spring, can't settle to anything except obsessive gardening. Another important philosophical question. Why does the house make itself untidy? Why is the default option chaos housework-wise? Or is it that the house is forming itself into a form of order that I don't recognise as order? Drifts of unironed clothing form in corners, piles of book and papers appear along the corners of the living room, dirty dishes stack up automatically - it's order, Jim, but not as we know it. Just imagine if the housework's default option was clean and tidy, as I know clean and tidy? What if things tidied themselves instead of un-tidied, cleaned instead of dirtied, piled instead of un-piled? Of course, I could train the cats to do the housework. Yeah, right.