Morbid curiosity

Last night it was the coldest it's been so far this autumn. I was shivering on my way home from work, which was partly my fault because, as an optimist, I under-dressed. As I stood on the platform thinking about where my winter coat was, I had a useless compulsion to look at the temperature on my phone. It wasn't going to make me warmer (the ambient radiation's not that bad); it wasn't going to be cold enough that I could brag about having survived it in just a spring coat and fashion scarf. So I started wondering about the biological or evolutionary advantage of morbid curiosity. Why do we gawk at horrific accidents? Why does my brother still show me his gruesome biking injuries; and why do I open the attachment? My theory, and I am not qualified in field to officially come up with theories, is that it's twofold. We show people, and look at, blood and gore and bad things happening as a primitive warning system. 'This is what can happen when you...' That doesn't explain my mental wrestle with my weather app last night. So, I think the other side of it is to reassure ourselves that we're ok. I looked at the temperature when I got home, once I was nice and warm; it was a bit below ten degrees. That's not the coldest I've ever been in; it's not close to hypothermia-inducing; plus, I noticed that it was the lowest number on the whole week of predicted numbers. I felt reassured (illogically). Maybe morbid curiosity is outdated, but it still gave me something to take my mind off shivering while waiting for the train home.