Dear Answer Queen:
I’ve been good friends with a woman I’ll call Dollface (because why not?) for a couple of decades. When we met, in our early mid-thirties, I was a single, broke, wannabe novelist in New York, living in a scummy flat and working part-time as a bartender to support my writing; she was a single, broke, aspiring actress/waitress. We spent many nights on her couch with a cheap bottle between us, bonding over our difficult but also passionate, art-driven lives. Then I got lucky: In short order, I met a loving guy, published a novel, and left New York for a smaller, more affordable city with beautiful country and lakes all around. My now-husband and I have a great life here, with like-minded friends, enough money as long as we work hard (which we do), and a dog we both love.
She talks constantly—mostly about how unhappy, poor, and lonely she is.
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