I reeled for a moment when I heard that Amy Winehouse had died. It took my breath away. I can't say I'm surprised; I did fear this would happen. A lot of us did. (And to be fair, it's early yet - I haven't heard if this was drug- or mental health-related. It may not have been.)
This is a day after the nightmare stories started pouring in from Norway. I spent quite a bit of time this morning reading about that terror, my over-developed empathetic instinct making me well up time and time again.
I got home, sad on top of sad (on my sister's birthday, no less) and my brother-in-law cited someone on Facebook, saying, "a day after massacres in Norway, all everyone's talking about is Amy Winehouse," and the like. Schnarr, schnarr.
This is a bullshit, hater thing to say. Making someone feel guilty over their grief is a horrible thing to do. Grief is not rational - it's a natural reaction to a personal loss. Because I feel sad because a huge musical talent is dead doesn't make it less sad that a madman went on a spree in Scandinavia.
Maybe it's an apples and oranges situation, or maybe it's simply not. I don't want to think about it right now.