One who keeps tearing around, and one who can’t move — but where are the clowns?

It fucking kills me, that I cannot escape MFP‘s influence. I mean, she is — just like she always was — a well-known name in multiple artsy and creative communities around the world, and at least as famous, if not more so, on the internet. She writes and paints and sings and does performance art and all kinds of other random things (and hey, when you’ve got the financial stability under you to sign up for anything you think sounds interesting, why the fuck wouldn’t you?)

But it’s still an unexpected slap to the face every time I’m cruising along through Facebook and someone I know (sometimes even a complete stranger) posts a link to what my ex is saying or doing, occasionally even with her face attached, smiling in a perfectly-posed portrait.

And I’m reminded of how I’m still struggling to make enough connections with people to eventually network my way out of homelessness and poverty. I’m reminded of how she would always wail about being so unknown, how nobody saw her work or valued what she did and who she was… how she didn’t really have any community or following — even after she ravaged not only her extensive community and following but also everyone that I knew in order to talk about how I had been so horrible in breaking up with her. More than a year later, as I was finally catching up with acquaintances that I hadn’t seen in ages, I could no longer even feign surprise when the first thing I heard was “just so you know, I talked at length with MFP about your whole situation.” It hurt, but it was expected.

And I’m reminded yet again that I’m still homeless because I’m still stuck in poverty and depending on a government check. I’m reminded that she didn’t even blink at dropping nearly $2,000 on deposit-and-first-month on her new place a few months before we broke up (it was an attempt to salvage the already-failing relationship. Obviously it didn’t work.) and then immediately followed that up by spending a few thousand more getting furniture (desk! storage cabinets! nightstand!) and appliances (new printer! microwave! toaster oven, with two shelves!) and a fully-stocked kitchen (fill the fridge! fill the cupboards! meat! fresh veggies! and especially a fully-stocked spice rack!) because, I mean, how could you get settled in and comfy in a new place if it’s bare and empty?! Gag. But the rest of that month she kept complaining about how she was so broke, that she didn’t have the funds to go out and do fun stuff.

So, yeah. She’s still out there doing just fucking fine, and still seems to be going on about how she understands what it’s like to struggle in poverty and to have nobody to turn to, nobody to support you or care about you. And she seems to be convincing enough in her performance (though considering her myriad artistic talents and ventures it’s not surprising) that she’s got people lining up to proudly say that they’re throwing their money at her. Yay for supporting “starving” artists, right?

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