Love takes the top off of your head

I cannot make light I’m so burnt out
I know where you are
I cannot believe how much it hurts
I’m a fallen star
--- Rhett Miller, "Meteor Shower"

Beautiful stuff.

The Maddening Angel is back again with Cokehead, K has called to tell me. I am not surprised. It's MA's habit to return to those that abuse her. Well, I honestly hope she's happy.

I don't think I want to date Spooky any more. I'm very tired of the uncertainty and the lame excuses. I still have not seen her car. Either Babydaddy has lent it, or she's drunk too much, or she lent it out, or blah blah blah. Does she even have one? I don't care if she doesn't; it's the lying that bugs me. It's the insistence that she does, yet never actually seeming to have it --- all the weird, just-barely-believable coincidences. We argued over it tonight and she said the stress made her ill. She texted me that she was going to bed, then turned off her phone.

I went to the Hangout and played video trivia with the Friar. Waitress W was there; she told me to run away from the problem. "Seventy-five percent of relationship problems," declares this amazing self-loathing drunk, "can be solved by running away."

I'm ashamed to admit it, but the Friar and I actually drove down to Spooky's house, checked her driveway, and even tried the key she gave me on a few cars that fit the description of the car she ostensibly has. Nothing. Friar advised me to stop calling her. I will; the only reason I've initiated contact today is not because I have some burning need to talk to her, but because I itch to know the truth about the goddam car and so I keep trying to catch her up in a lie or a reveal. Lord, I'm pathetic.