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.