As with many people, there are days when I feel like my job prevents me from having much of a life. There are the hours, the energy drain, the mental overload and, in my case, there's the small talk.

"So what do you do?"

Ah, that glorious meet-and-greet staple just one half-step shy of being the new "What's your sign?"

"Obituaries," I usually respond bluntly.

Nothing like bringing up obits to, um, kill the conversation. It's enough to make me want to shy away from social engagements at times. Fortunately, I've developed a kind of defense mechanism for cocktail party chatter.

Click here to read how Elizabeth deals with her depressing disclosure ...

Usually I'll talk more about my other gigs at work -- I write a lot of arts features as well as a weekly column; I go on the odd travel assignment; I organize the community news. Really and truly, obituaries are not the be-all and end-all of my daily existence. Which is good, because if they were, God knows what would keep me from wanting to off myself some days -- and leaving a farewell note in the form of a perfectly formatted obit.

I will fall back on the "obituaries editor" label to my occupation to get a reaction, or to try and make someone get lost. If the conversation does continue after the dreary response, people are usually curious about how the occupation affects my life at large.

"Do you find it kind of depressing?" someone will inevitably ask.

I guess it's a fair question, but is there really a person out there who would say, "No, it warms me down to the cockles of my heart?"

The truth is that it's something that you really don't get until death is your day job in some capacity. Some days, yeah, it sucks. If people are angry over the death, you are treated like the scum responsible for it. But you witness some very sweet people saying and doing some very sweet things.

You see their "humanity," as a good friend of mine puts it, and all the good things people are capable of.

"It kinda makes you have a life," I said once to someone, as the idea was just dawning on me.

When you spend all day sorting through other people's lives, you can't help but want to go out and live your own.