Even Bukowski Had Jobs
You pursued me online in spite of a 28-year age difference, saying you had a "Michelle Pfeiffer complex" and preferred older women. Heavy on the compliments and romance, and the singer/songwriter/filmmaker mystique, I eventually fell hard, believing you when you said you loved me. Within two months you had quit your job, given notice on your rented room, and moved in with me, never paying me a dime. I helped finance your album, bought groceries, made dinner, paid for date nights, and tried to keep the house clean by myself on top of working full time. You repaid my love and generosity by dumping me for another woman in her 40s while still living with me, and didn't even have the balls to be honest about it. The depth of your narcissism, self-importance, and entitlement are truly unbelievable, but you seem to have everyone charmed, including your new "mommy figure." The world does NOT owe you a living. Even Bukowski had jobs. You are not without your talents and positive qualities, and I hope for your sake this is a childish phase you grow out of. Because behavior dictates maturity, and you are still a child. As for me, I'm dating, looking hotter than ever, and chalking it all up to painful but thankfully short experience. I deserve so much better, and I am already getting it. We all get back what we give, tenfold. Remember that.