For those of you who aren't that savvy to the Twelve Steps, the Seventh Step is the following: Humbly Asked Him To Remove Our Shortcomings.

So I've been going to OA meetings and even tho participating isn't totally about losing weight, that's relly all I want. Being abstinent has eluded me. I was good in and around May and June, but then I began slipping. Quite honestly a large part ws due to "summer" and my not being able to keep up my exercise program. And once you start slipping a little, a little soon becomes a lot. So I've been slipping a lot lately, a mousse cake here, a chocolate cake here, slices of pizza here, too much pepsi, a bagel with cream cheese eaten with absolutely no iotas of guilt.

Part of the Program is to actually become acquainted with and practice the 12 steps. I bought the 12-step book for OA and the workbook back in May and as of yesterday I hadn't really "done the work". Read from the step book and start doing exercises on the steps. Tuesday I received a program call from someone I didn't know and it was such a gift. The person who called was having trouble with her eating. The conversation ended with our planning to speak again that evening. It's hard to explain the effect upon me - receiving this call from someone I didn't know. But it helped me to eat well all day and I looked forward to speaking to "my friend" again in the evening.

Today I went to a meeting and I forgot and thought it was a Friday, which is a step meeting. I found my 12-step book and raced out. Only the meeting was a literature meeting. But I carried the book with me all day and boy was it there when I needed it.

After my therapy session I was going to McDonald's on Eighth Avenue and 56th Street. They have a grand piano there and I was going to play for the first time since injuring my hand in May. I was also going to record my playing so I could see where I made my mistakes. I stopped off in the Duane Reade on 58th and Eighth, showed the salesperson the kind of cassette tape I wanted and allowed myself to be convinced by the salesperson that I was buying the correct tape, even tho from the looks of the package it seemed too wide. But I bought it and trotted off to McDonald's, tearing the cellophane on the way, only to discover that it was not the right tape.

I was furious and called her aloud an asshole,even tho she wasn't there.

After I played I marched back to Duane Reade to return the bogus cassette. I could feel I was still furious. The salesperson who had waited on me only had one person to finish with before I could speak to her but I was so impatient that the salesperson next to her was free first so I went to her. I started my story, explaining what had happened and forcefully took out the contents from the plastic bag - the cellophane in pieces, the receipt, and the bogus cassette. She didn't seem to comprehend what I was saying or didn't respond quickly enough for me, so I repeated my story. She finally called her superior, and then I had to tell him the story all over again, which didn't help my mood any. My original salesperson heard what was going on and involved herself telling me to calm down. Finally they reimbursed me. I had to swipe me credit card and press the appropriate selection and then they gave me a form to fill out, which didn't serve to alleviate my awful state. I thanked them and left, but I still felt wired and that I had acted out badly. I hadn't yelled or anything but my attitude was just - pissy.

I took the subway home and had to wait awhile for the train. I sat on a bench and decided I might write while I was waiting. I didn't think I had amything to read. But when I looked in my bag, I saw the 12-step book and decided to read it. It felt more than appropriate. And as I read I felt so remorseful about my behaviour in Duane Reade. Definitely a shortcoming that I need removed.

So finally the train came and I find a seat and continue reading and what comes to me is that I need to apologize for my behavior. So I think about returning to the store. I really just want to get home but my need to apologize wins. At 86th Street I get off and go downstairs for the downtown train. Once on the platform I'm at the front of the train, where I need to be, so I don't have to do a lot of walking. And when I get off the train a few stops later I go right up the stairs, thru the revolving door, up the escalator and then across the street to Duane Reade. The salespeople are in the same place as when I was there just before. This time I go to my original person. I have to wait for her to finish with just one person. When I'm face to face with her I start off with that I was just in the store and the whole tape thing, knowing that she knows who I am. And then I tell her that I want to apologize for my behavior and that I had wanted to use the tape right away and got very frustrated. But I didn't need to be so frustrated. She said it was all right, extended her hand, smiled at me and we shook hands.

I was a wonderful moment.

This is a piece I wrote to submit to a magazine, The SUN. They have an area entitled Readers Write. Readers address subjects on which they're the only authority. The topic which will appear in the February 2007 issue was HELP.

When I thought of "help" I first imagined a cry for help. Being stranded in a body of water or trapped in a burning building. A cry for help in either of these instances can summon a lifeguard a nearby boat or in the case of a fire, firemen. With that first thought, several songs also came to mind. The Beatles song HELP (me if you can I'm feeling down), and the song, If I Can Help Somebody.

I live in a brownstone in New York City and recently two of my neighbors asked me for help. One knocked on my door frantically and said she smelled smoke coming from the apartment above her. She said she had knocked on the door and noone answered. I went with her to investigate and ultimately decided quite quickly thereafter to make a call to 911. Help. I told them the situation and the firemen were soon at our building. It turned out our neighbor was inside, sleeping and had something on the stove that was burning. She had been reheating pizza. In a box. Oddly enough, the neighbor in the smoky apartment rang my bell late one night a few months later. I could tell right away she was a little intoxicated and was in some sort of predicament. She asked if she could come in, I said of course, and almost before she was inside she blurted out that she had just been fired from her new job. In neither of those situations did I have to go out of my way, but I hear of people traveling great distances to be of service. As in the marine, who before being sent overseas and maybe even before enlisting, felt compelled to travel to the Katrina area and delivered a carload of food and supplies. This person was not paid to do that but heard the cry for help and responded. I sometimes wish I could have responded heroically to situations like that. I have been of help though in my way. I have donated blood, given money to AIDS, the Democratic National Convention, the Policemen's Benevolent Association, Feed The Children, UNICEF, have sponsored a child from Children International, raised money at work to donate to the Bowery for food at Thanksgiving, contributed to disasters like 9/11, earthquakes and various floods and/or hurricanes such as Katrina, contributed to aid Darfur and written letters for Amnesty International. I have also lent money to a friend or two, my ex-husband - quite a few times - and to one of my sisters, who called me an angel.

I may have thought of a cry for help on first thought because I cried out for help when I was being raped. In my apartment. I cried out meekly for my next door neighbor. I had been on a date, to a club - dancing and whatever, and after he drove me home he asked to come up for a drink or coffee. Immediately after he left I received help from the police and then from the therapist at my Rape Group which I attended for about 8 weeks. There have also been other occasions when I had to seek help: visiting my boyfriend who lived on the top floor, the 12th, and being trapped in the elevator that got stuck just below that floor, and yelling to him for help. I was probably even a little claustrophobic at the time; asking my neighbors above and below me to turn down their very loud music, to which I mostly received no response and learned that people would rather turn off than turn down; calling the animal rescue people to get the squirrel out of my bedroom; asking my ex-husband to take my cat and care for him because I was too depressed to do so. And I have had to seek help from various psychiatrists and psychologists to help me maintain my equilibrium and get me back on my feet.

I did not always believe in God but I do now and I believe that God is the supreme helper. I believe God healed me finally of my depression. God is always there. Reminding me of his/her support, as well as reminding me and encouraging me to do the same for my fellows.

Tuesday, 7/18/06

Watching 3-Iron on TV. Not a fun movie necessarily, but it has its moments. It's Japanese. Refreshing. Not sure there are any dynamic progressions or anything like in Boot Camp but I like it. It was another extremely hot day in the big apple. Went down to the Chambers Street area to see my lawyer. I had read what he sent me but then when we were in the conference room he said he had emailed me my Affidavit. I was to have read it and made changes if any were needed. I didn't see the email with the affidavit until this evening. So I read it there and made changes. As I was looking at the last page, with the signature line, I saw my name Sylvia was misspelled. They'd spelled it "SLYVIA". I told the lawyer and he fixed it, then I made a few changes. In the ladies room after we had finished, I realized I didn't have a copy. I requested one once I was back in the reception area. I waited and a secretary brought me out a thick package. The caption on the front had SYLVIA but in the body of this opening page they called me Azure. And then it said I had signed the Affidavit on the 14th. She went back and changed those things. I was pissed at the mistakes.

TO BE CONTINUED - TO GET TO THE FUN PART

From Chambers I went back uptown. Another hand therapy/OT appointment. The place was not as restful as the one on Monday - loud unbearable music - but the very thin very short hand therapist gave me lots of exercises that I think will be good for my hand and the tightness in my arm(s). From there it was Whole Foods and then the subway home. I dripped in the subway and got angrier and angrier because I had to feed the cats once I got home and go right back out again. At home the painters were stil outside and i had to be careful where I stepped. Igloo got under foot in the apartment and I stepped on his tail. Of course, Hiro wanted to go out and I ended up yelling at him. I almost cried in the cab down to 15th Street. The cab driver was Indian, although he could have been from Pakistan or Bangladesh. He had an aura that made it difficult to remain angry. He said more than once that he thought it was going to rain, but the skies didn't make it seem so. I felt I didn't know anything in class. I said I'd done a couple of hours work when I hadn't done anyand should have done at least 10. My feedback was not good and I judged myself harshly. I felt stupid and I hate feeling stupid. Earlier I had bought balance bars. Ate 2. I guess generally I felt everything was going to shit: not really losing the weight I wanted to lose, my hand still not WELL so I'm not really playing or writing because of it, running to doctors, not being able to do my walk in the park because of the fucking heat, not knowing what will happen with the apartment lawsuit. And last but not least - hating my kitchen.

TRUST ME, THE FUN PART IS ACTUALLY COMING. YOU WON'T BE ROLLING IN THE AISLES BUT THE HUMOR IS THERE.

Somehow, someway it gets to be 10PM and class is over. No more humiliation for Azure. I go to the bathroom, relieving myself of all the humiliation I've accumulated in my 2 hours, plus, class and who knows what else since the beginning of the day and then I ride the elevator down. I know, people don't really ride eleveators let alone ride them down. They're not horses after all. But this is my blog. At ground level I go to exit and a woman in a red and white skirt or dress goes by and into the elevator. As I keep walking I notice that I'm remarking to myself that she was rather wet. She had dark hair and it seemed to be plastered to her face and her face seemed wet also. I figured she'd been running or maybe she was someone who perspired profusely in the heat. I did think about her dress though and wished I had a dress like it. And as I'm thinking some other silly thought, probably having to do with food, I've arrived at the exit and I see it's bloody pouring. After I curse, my next thought is of my taxicab driver who got his wish. Never in a million years did I believe that one drop of rain was going to fall from the sky as hot and sunny as it was. And even if I had listened to the weather folks I probably wouldn't have wanted to carry one more thing so I would have probably left the umbrella home anyway. What's a summer shower. But it was really pouring.

HERE'S A LITTLE CHUCKLE FOR YOU

You know what I did? I went and asked the 2 guards back in the building, sitting at their little guardstation. The guardstation you have to stop at and show your id and then after you've shown them your id they give you a name tag with your name on it and you walk aways and they press something and these little glass or plastic slide things in front of you that you think you're going to walk into if you keep walking suddenly disappear and the next thing you know you're at the elevators. So that's where I walked back to and asked the guards, excusing myself first because they were chatting, if they'd heard the weather report and if they knew how long it was going to rain. They probably thought I was a total ditz and laughed about me much later, but right then they just kinda said no.

I went back to the doors and watched people in the street walking in the rain. Every so often I would attempt to leave, either through the regular doors or the revolving door. The water had seeped in making little puddles and I tried avoiding them with little success, not wanting my feet nor my sandals to get wet. I put everything I had into 1 bag so nothing would get wet but then I still didn't want to physically get wet. I waited. Soon the woman in the red dress was back with some friends. They went out in the rain. They also had umbrellas. Finally it seemed to have let up some and I
figured I'd better make a break for it. The building entrance was on Ninth Avenue but I had to walk up 15th Street and once I was on my way I realized it ws hardly raining at all. The subway entrance I was headed for on Eighth Avenue was closed so I had to walk another block to 14th Street. As I descended into the subway I almost had to laugh at how panicked and upset I had been. Envisioning myself stranded in the building for hours.

There was a pretty good breeze on the platform right near the tunnel so I waited there, even tho it didn't smell that great. It was on the train that the humor of everything manifested itself.

My lesson today was at 11:30. I was able to get up at a little after nine, do some cleaning and be dressed and ready when Mrs. Hagenah arrived at 11:27. She's never late.

My lesson was a healing experience. First we went over the relaxing exercise that she has me doing, first just by relaxing my body and arms sitting at the piano and then doing the relaxing exercise (playing a passage slowly while dropping my wrists) with certain passages. Then we played the Bach as a duet. This time I played the left hand. A lot of time was spent on the Bach. She has books about Bach and talked about his life, his jobs, his persecutors, his family life, etc. It was very interesting. Probably need to get something out of the library. Then she asked me to play the Beethoven - 1st Movement of the Waldstein. It's actually a difficult peice for me to get the right mood at the beginning. but on the whole I think I played it better than ever, even though there are still technical difficulties and tempo fluctuations. I finally told her I was no longer at my job and what had happened. Of course she was happy that I no longer have to deal with the harassment and that I will have more time for my music.

Igloo has been very good - for him - about not jumping on the piano and ducking inside the keys at every moment. But somehow I feel the Bach inspired him - when we were playing the duet - and he couldn't help himself. I grabbed him when he was only halfway inside but he grabs the strings, so I had to stop and take off the quilted cover. Thankfully I had cleaned most of the stuff off so it was a very quick process and once I opened the piano he jumped out.

After Mrs. Hagenah left I spent quite a bit of time dealing with ANTS. Last year around this time I started seeing ants all over the living room and in the kitchen. Well they were back again. I had sprayed last night but I needed to spray more. There were some under a box so I took the box outside and emptied it but there were no ants anywhere.

I did end up having an altercation. Outside. Apparently there is a new person handling the sweeping and the garbage. I'd never seen him before. He was working in the front of the next building and I came out and put garbage in the cans. Then he came over to my building and dumped his sweeper in one of the cans. And he also removed my garbage, at first tearing the bag which I objected to, and then putting it in another can. By way of motions he let me know that the can I had put my garbage in was for recycling. Which meant that there were only 3 cans now for garbage. And even that's not enough when everyone puts their garbage out. I tried to question him but he wouldn't answer any of my questions. He mainly mumbled something about Management. Then he walked off as I was still trying to talk to him, went back to the building next door and shut the door in my face. I think a lot of "illegal aliens" pretend they don't speak english when in fact they realy do. This guy was just rude and ..................... I'm one of those people who is definitely in favor of closing the borders. It's probably not politically correct but I don't care.

Bob was coming to pick me up at 5PM and I decided to go get a new pair of jeans. I didn't have a lot of time (it was 3:30) but I new exactly where I was going and I figured I could be home in an hour. I took the bus down to 66th and Columbus. Got out the back door at 66th and walked up 67th. Made a right on Broadway but the GAP was there. Realized I needed to be back a block and walked back to 66th. And what do I see but the store I was looking for but it now has Banana Republic pictures and store opening information in the windows. My store, Eddie Bauer, is gone. They had really nice stuff and had clothes in my size. Now I really do have to lose weight, not that I have money to be shopping.

And Ed, if you're reading this. Eddie Bauer's prices were a lot more reasonable than Banana Republic. Plus they were'nt so chi-chi
(she-she) - I don't know you you spell it.

I intended to treat myself to a Henning Mankell mystery - his (new one - so I went into B&N. Only I couldn't find the one I wanted and then after buying 2 books that I really don't need, I found out that my discount has expired. I must say I handled all those disappointing things quite well. Except I did make an unnecessary purchase (a mystery by a black guy, the Blackbird Papers by Ian Smith; and Writers on Writing, Essays from The New York Times),
and then I went to Balducci's for food. Crab cakes and orzo and cauliflower.

I ate the orzo on the way home in a cab and got home with fifteen minutes to prepare.

I don't date and I don't feel comfortable with myself at my present size so I was not feeling in tip-top shape about going out with Bob, even tho (i) this wasn't a date; (ii) I don't have to impress Bob; and (iii) he's getting a divorce. I just had to kind of suck it up and forget about perfection and be me. Long story short, I had a very relaxing time, except for our food order mishap which just turned out to be funny and caused us to get a free dessert, which of course I didn't eat. The place was not crowded, the music was low and gentle and once the right food came it was vegetarian and delicious.

Bob showed me photos (on his computer) of his son, shots near the GW Bridge, the Blues Cruise he was on with Taj Mahal and Bad Gestad in Austria.

Two of his musician friends have just been diagnosed with cancer. That kind of puts things in perspective and helps me to count my blessings instead of wanting to kill certain people and/or rant and rave about the injustice of how they've treated me, which I'm not doing anyway. But you get my drift.

Tomorrow I have to get back out in the Park for my walk and I've got to work on my screenplay - A LOT.

Rita called me this morning from Las Vegas. She hadn't seen my email to her so I ended up telling her the whole story - about my no longer being at work and how everhting went down. It was good to talk to her and I hope we see each other from time to time.

Well today is good friday and despite how it began at 9am I thought it would be a good day. It's 8:26pm. The day is just about over and I was violated by those assholes at my job and I need to let it go and do some of my own work. The thing is despite the weather and the phone call this morning there were some very nice moments and I wanted to write about them elaborating.

So after my supervisor's first kick in the teeth, which was to tell me that I needn't have bothered giving them 2 weeks notice but since I did I could leave today - make today my last day and they would mail me any papers I needed to sign. After that I finally made some sort of expense list for my taxes. Things and amounts to use. I had no receipts in front of me so I was guessing at everything except the price of what I paid for my piano. I got upset with myself for not being able to keep orderly records. I've kept every receipt but I'd have to look through the receipt box and/or receipt bags. Not good. And I also couldn't find the envelope that I'd seen with some interest amounts I'd paid when I had the house. And I didn't even know now what I had paid for the house. Great. Oddly enough I found my 2001 and 2002 W-2 from Thacher.

I was determined to be on time tho. And I was. Took the C local down to 23rd Street. Was reading and almost missed my stop. So I was 20 minutes early. When it was time to go into my accountant's office, whoa. He was in a really bad mood, it being April 14th. And he wasn't pleased that I gave him a figure of $250 that I'd made from my CD and also gave him over $10,000 expenses. And he was too tired to explain. I felt like an idiot. Why didn't I know more about taxes. He worked it so I got a small sum back. Disappointing but at least I didn't have to give money that I don't have to the fucking government, who takes my money anyway.

Before going to the building where Kerner is - that's his name, I stopped in a local deli. It was actually crowded. This is 8th Avenue and 27th Street. There were lots of potted orchids on display and I remembered I had bought one from the same deli last year. Mt first orchid. It didn't last very long. There was a man who ordered before me but told me to go first to pay because all I was getting was coffee. That was nice.

After leaving Kerner's I was going to 86th and First Avenue to return to dvds to Blockbuster. I tried returning them yesterday to the blockbuster on 10th and 70th Street. Each Blockbuster is totally independent of the other one. First what happened is that the E train came and I let it go by - unfortunately. One of the men sweeping, that I tried to stay away from because I didn't want him sweeping at my feet, ended up having the correct information. There were no Uptown C trains running on the Local track - because of track work.