...

my friend committed suicide monday night.

i had known her for about ten years. she gave good hugs. we shared long ones. she danced. brighid and i stayed with her when we went up to the city last winter. before that, i hadn't seen her since the summer, at a festival. she sat in hank with her cute blonde friend, and we all chatted.

when i stayed with her at her hobbit cottage, we sat up late one night and drank a bit of scotch, and talked. we talked about a lot of things, including depression. she spoke of how she had been traveling in her youth and got really, really sick. after that, she lived with depression. that's just the way it was. she tried a lot of things, and they would work for a bit, but then.

she was doing pretty well at the time, had a book that was reminding her. i forget the title but i can see it. i remember looking at the book, and it seemed familiar, like i had seen it years ago when i lived in cloud nine. i remember wondering if it would help me with my own depression.

she seemed optimistic. she seemed tired.

we wanted to play cribbage, but she couldn't find the board. she looked really hard, too. she was pretty focused on it. eventually we played just keeping score on paper.

i wonder who will take her three cats.