Laughing alone always feels insane. It’s not quite as bad as being the only person laughing in a group (I’ll sometimes crack up on the subway while listening to a podcast on my headphones, and people look at me like I just asked them for blood plasma), but it’s bad. Laughter, unlike other emotions, is always better when shared. I tend to do any necessary crying by myself. It seems more considerate than burdening others with my blubbering. Horror movies are spookiest when consumed solitarily. But no one ever says: “I was watching The Hangover in my apartment with no one there, and I had to call someone because it was too hilarious.”
Laughter is also the only feeling you can decide not to have. It’s hard to reason yourself out of a major case of the creeps. Schindler’s List is always going to tug at your heartstrings unless you’re some kind of holocaust denier or enjoyer. Laughter, though, is more like lovemaking. It’s only good if you agree to it, and it’s best when there’s someone else around.