She said, "It seems like you're doing better." I thought for a moment and said, "When I woke up this morning, I couldn't stop thinking about killing myself. But now I feel a little better." We played with the cats and made acid plans for when she returns. She is conducting her sister's wedding, just like she did for me and Brian -- except her sister is inviting 100+ people to the wedding. It's been stressing her out to do all the planning, so hopefully when she gets back I'll see her more.

Then I rode my bike across town to a collective house that has a few rooms opening up soon. They were having a vegan potluck and showing people the rooms. There was only one other prospective renter besides me, so I might actually have a chance. I was almost too shy to stay for dinner, but I did. There were about ten people there, residents and friends. We ate vegetables from their garden, and drank iced mate, sitting amongst plum and cherry trees in the backyard. They compost everything and use the graywater from the sinks to flush the toilets, and other ecologically amazing things that I totally approve of, but would be too lazy to do on my own.

A few ex-reedies showed up who I vaguely recognized. Someone tried the pouring vodka in a watermelon thing, but I was too grossed out to try a slice. Someone passed around a joint. We talked about Spain. Evening fell, and I started to get mosquito bites. It occurred to me, I am doing something normal, sitting in a backyard talking to other human beings and eating food that came out of the ground. They said it might be a month before the rooms are available, but who knows, maybe they'll pick me.

Then I rode my bike across the Broadway Bridge and down Lovejoy and down 11th -- I stopped in Jamison Square to see what all the hype is about (last time I was there was four years ago when it was still under construction!). Just as I glided to a stop and stepped off my bike, a man walked up to me: "Will you go out for dinner with me?" He seemed a little drunk. He said he lived in one of the nearby condos; he looked cleancut, probably makes a lot of money. I was full from all the potluck food, otherwise I probably would have done it just for the entertainment value... He kept telling me how gorgeous I was and how great the food was at the French restaurant he couldn't pronounce. I politely refused and continued riding my bike to Powell's.

They didn't have the books I was looking for, but I read Cometbus and Bitch Magazine and drank coffee.

Then I clipped my bike light to the crate on the back of my bike and coasted down Burnside towards the bridge. Riding a bike downhill is like flying. There was a lot of Saturday night clubbing traffic around Old Town and it was great to sail past it. But then there's the horrible bridge approach, so many blocks uphill until I can hardly breathe and my knees are weak. Then finally the crest of the hill in the middle of the bridge, and gasping for air as I fly down towards Grand. Flat for a few blocks, past more partiers and drunken revelry at the Doug Fir, then another torturous four blocks uphill to 12th, then finally just flat all the way to my house.

I carry my bike up fifteen stairs and lock it on the porch. My room is hot and I'm sweaty all over, wiping sweat off my forehead.

Tomorrow I have more Plans. I had Plans today, and I like staying Busy. Tomorrow: go to meditation again at the yoga place across the street -- I went last week, and it was ok. This time I want to make it to the yoga class before meditation, too. And I'm going to meet Ashley somewhere for coffee.