Granny Has A Podcast

Gentle reader,

MamaCat is sipping her coffee and very quietly shaking with rage. The old me, the Diana of a year ago, say, would have put her fist through something and been on the phone to somebody by now. Today’s me, who lives on a couch in New York, is intellectually prepared and so is able to process this by coming to you.

As we sit this morning, I am, incredibly, still married.

The mediation to end the marriage was thirty days ago. I, and the attorneys, signed within hours. Love that e-signature. He, however, has not. He did, however, change his Facebook status to Single that night. A man who has been divorced three times is not “single” — and neither is my husband, who is still married to me.

But that’s not why I’m trembling.

I’m also responsible for the car I escaped him in, a 2009 Kia. A seventeen year old obsolete but beloved sedan. I had to flee, I had to use the car, but I don’t want a car in New York City. One of the chief benefits of living in New York is that you don’t need a car. If you’re ambulatory and can use the subway, you have the freedom of the city.

But the car is in his name. So I can’t do jack doodley. And those Minnesota plates are from December. He has been required by the terms of the agreement to send the title. Or the tabs. Or something. So I dutifully move the Sleek Black Beauty every week, because of alternate side of the street parking. Sometimes we take her to the big grocery, or Van Cortlandt Park, or even New Rochelle. But she’s kind of on the illegal side until he gives me the power to register her.

I just wanted to drive her back and return her.

But that’s not why I’m livid af.

I am required to assume debt and declare Chapter 7. As I’ve said, this makes me feel like a complete failure at Life. So I’ve been spending most of my time doing outreach to places like Legal Aid, trying to find pro bono assistance. I first went online to try to file on my own. Holy Crap, Dante himself must have created this ring of hell. I can’t manage it.

So far these efforts return a lot of “sorry, we don’t, but try these guys,” and one plain “it’s $2k minimum to get an attorney no matter what.” That was a “discount” quote. On my $1034/month in social security. Each day a little more discouraging.

But that’s not why I’m fucking enraged this morning.

It’s that something has occurred which I knew was coming, and now that it’s happened, right on time from the narcissist’s playbook, all the intellectual preparedness in the world has not prepared me emotionally for this morning.

I mean, I’ve known for a while it was happening. Why would he still have the little blue pills, when I haven’t been physically capable of Doing It for ten years? But the Public Admission portion of our program was always on the way. It’s true to the patterns.

I’m pretty sure when it first started, too. In September of 2024, if not earlier that year. I had a big success in New York and the next day he was unreachable. Long story. Better told in a bar.

So last night, for his 67th birthday, he had a dinner date and went to a rock concert. The last time he took me out was supposedly October 19th, 2024. That was when we pulled the behaviors that made me finally realize that if I stayed, I was headed for the Emergency Department.

Ugly. Not unexpected. But ugly.

So this is a blatant plea for help. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would come to this. But the collection calls have begun and I don’t know how the hell I’m going to pay for my own bankruptcy. I honestly thought that I would have at least part time retail or something by now. But getting disentangled from this man has been like a full-time job ever since I got out of there. The clinical term is, “post-separation abuse,” and again, it’s common for his personality type.

There are so many things I want to do. Videos and podcast episodes, marketing outreach, yoga, lunches. So far I’ve seen several Broadway shows, but I’ve only spent a total of $39 for a Theatre Development Fund ticket. The rest were glorious gifts. I tell you this lest you think I’m on permanent vacation and recklessly spending my ass off.

I’ve replaced my entire wardrobe. Most of what I brought is too big, now that I’ve lost weight. Then the seasons changed, and I had left 90% of my winter things back in Minnesota.

I’ve built a little booth. I need to fix my baffle but it’s nearly perfect. It’s worth evey penny.

I’ve made some contributions to this household. Nothing compared to the value of this safe shelter here in the City with people who love me. But as Amy Farah Howler and I are now a permanent fixture on this couch, like and extended Bojak Horseman bit, I do make myself useful and I do spend money to offset what it costs to feed and house me. They do not ask for rent. They know.

And Amy Farah Howler has had the medical attention she needed. She is thriving!

And I have completed all this intense research for the divorce in a timely manner, while he’s not complied with anything. But I still owe the mediator and the attorney money, and that’s not going to be bankruptcy protected.

I’ve lost friends along the way. Maybe I’ve lost you. Someone I thought would be a friend for life called me “pathetic” and that’s just not ok. I’m the ballsiest broad you know. Another friendship ended when I was called “baby girl” and lectured. If that’s your lens too, then please go feel superior to somebody else. I am doing the impossible with nothing.

It’s the Principles of Soup, baby. If you see that, if you see how hard I’m working to completely re-build an entire life from the ashes, if you recognize, then I welcome you and I truly appreciate you. And I really need help. Please know that I am doing everything I can to help myself.

I’m going to try to edit up my chicken roasting video this week, but I have another self-tape (like as if we tape anything) audition to prepare and upload, which is priority and wonderful! I have so many things I’d rather be doing for you than asking.

But here we are. The narcissistic abuser is out on the town on the kind of date he hasn’t taken me on in years. He’s “single”! But he can’t manage to finish the divorce or sell the house or send the car paperwork.

Sonif there’s any chance you can consider becoming a monthly supporter… or if you can take those rings off my hands… or if you collect antique railroad pocket watches (I have my grandfather’s)… I am flailing. I need help.

There. I said it.

Please and thank you and I’m so sorry and meow, darlings.