A friend from London killed himself. He was goofy and hilarious and belligerent and musical. I didn't know him well, just walked and talked with him a couple of times on the way to pubs with large groups of people.

It feels wrong to say that I can't believe he did it, that it doesn't make sense. I didn't know him or his problems. He was the last guy I would've expected to do this, though.

The door of j's room is open, now. For how long, who knows. We'll see as the semester, and the rest of the world, pans out. It's so good to have her back, though. Like a familiar house.