We're watching a Hindi comedy, and a woman seems intent on committing suicide, and the characters play it off as a joke, and it's an opportune time for to leave the room because it makes me think of Sherrie.
I'm listening to "Adam's Song," and it's somehow more poignant because it reminds me of Sherrie.
I'm singing along to "Welcome to the Black Parade," and the lines "Though you're dead and gone, believe me / Your memory will carry on" remind me of Sherrie.
I've never even seen The Royal Tenenbaums, but I know about the usage of "Needle in the Hay," so that makes me think of Sherrie. Also because she was really getting into Elliott Smith the last couple months. I think. I thought I remembered that. I was paying a little bit of attention, right? Now I can't find the post. I swear I saw it. Maybe it was someone else.
I didn't even know her last name until I read her obituary. That's the sort of thing that makes it weird to tell anyone in real life. Especially my family, who couldn't possibly understand what's been on my mind the past week.
I think I've thought about her more in the past week than I ever did when she was alive, and that makes me feel shitty. I think I'm more affected, in some way, than I was when my uncle was killed in a car crash, which left me empty for a few days but allowed me to recover afterward, and that's just weird. Maybe because, despite our years of history, I had so little real, personal interaction with him. LiveJournal comments are powerful things, apparently. Of course, I even delivered a fucking eulogy for him. I choked up. I haven't actually cried this week, though, I think. It could be the collective grief from people I know better than I knew her seeping into me. It could be the fact that I don't even realize what I've lost because I didn't know her well enough.
Come back, Sherrie.