DUPE OF OTHER BUZZY - SEE THE OTHER ONE

Was up very early this morning. How about 8, 8:30 and finally got up around 8:40. It was neutering day for Igloo. He's still pretty small so I was taking him in the cardboard box I first had for him back in May. I've only used it about 4 times. I had the box out in the hall and put him in it, closing it the way it closes, and then went back in the apartment for something. When I came out I was expecting to be on my way, but he was down at the end of the hall. Curled up. And of course when I went to get him he made a mad dash to go up the stairs. On occasion, I've had to go all the way up to the top floor to get him but he wasn't in a very frisky mode - mood?. Once I put him back in the box I could see how the sides weren't staying in their slots. But once I picked up the box everything stayed in place.

Walked to Central Park West and as I turned the corner the bus was just arriving at the bus stop. From then on it became a manoeuvering job. I had to keep hold of the box so that Igloo wouldn't get out and fish for my trtansitchek card in my bag at the same time. I was so concerned about not letting go of the box that I actually forgot about the card once I put it in the slot. The bus driver had to call me several times and I wasn't understanding what he was saying. Actually I thought he was telling me I couldn't be on the bus with Igloo. Finally I saw him holding the card and waving it. A lady in the front got up and handed it to me. Then the bus driver started saying something about people being ungrateful. I guess I hadn't responded quickly enough or thanked him soon enough.

We got to 65th Street pretty quickly and the bus was pretty empty. Then we got on the cross-town bus and there was no seat. Quite a few people were chatting on their cell phones. Especially one female right near me. She was supposed to be telling someone something, which meant this person wouldn't be able to come back, I guess in her life. And she was talking about her parents and that she was only 16 years old. Over and over and over. I don't know why people insist on having these very personal conversations - lengthy ones - in public spaces. I did get a seat though. Someone got up. It took forever to get through Central Park and to cross Fifth Avenue. Then we got to 68th near Hunter College and a lot of people got off, including the 16 year old talker, but there were twice as many people waiting on line to get in the bus. There were only 4 more stops to go (Third, Second, First and York), so I couldn't figure out where everyone was going. I was getting off at Second Avenue - 2 stops away. Between trying to keep hold of the cat case and the shopping bag and my bag(which was on my shoulder), all the people filing in with their different energies, the woman next to me on a cell phone, except she was talking very softly, which I much appreciated, having been on the bus for what seemed a long time, the threat of terror in the subways, and worrying about Igloo and his surgery, the morning was fraught with tension. Several times I imagined Igloo getting loose on the bus and saw myself running after him scrambling to get him under people and under seats. Igloo does not like being outside his environment. He gets quite frantic, pants a lot and makes loud piercing cries every so often. Just when you think he's okay he yells.

We were near the back of the bus but we still had to wade through a few people before getting to the door. He'd finally been quiet on the second bus but now that we were outside and walking Igloo began crying again. I talked to him but I'm not sure he could even hear me. At Madison Avenue, once we leave the Park and cross Fifth Avenue, the bus turns left and goes to 68th Street before turning again to go east. I had to walk 3 blocks back to 65th Street. I haven't been on the East Side a lot as a New Yorker but I used to be there more than now. I passed this very large apartment building with lots of glass that I remember Jackie, my cousin, saying that Joan her friend had a client in there. Joan does massage. It's also the area of a high school that my sister Merry went to. After the apartment complex there's the Beekman Theatre, which is actually on the ground floor of this apartment complex. And that's where I saw The Postman Always (Only?) Rings Twice, with Jessica Lange and Jack Nicholson, I think. I remember being so blown away by the sensuality of the movie. I think I saw it twice and I remember taking what I thought were film notes. Camera angles, dialogue, etc. At 66th, if you go a block east I think I went to a movie theatre there and saw Apocalypse Now. Or rather I attempted to see Apocalypse Now. It was so violent at one point - I think thery were going to slaughter everyone in a village - that I had to get up and leave. It was early on in the movie. I can't remember what was really going on with me at the time, but I was probably very depressed. There was a period where I would go to movies or plays and they would affect me terribly. I'd end up crying my eyes out in bathrooms. On this particular occasion, I think I just left the theatre and walked up the street to get air and regroup. And then on the east side of Second Avenue. between 66th and 65th there's another theater. Not as modern as the one a block away. I had met my high school and college girlfriend there for a movie one time. I don't remember the name of the movie. The thing is she's now in England and has a serious kidney condition. She gets dialysis twice a week I think. She's an incredible jazz singer and a writer. The movie theater was all boarded up, leaving only the teal blue deco framework showing.

So now I'm at 65th Street and I had thought the vet's was between 2nd and Third. She (the assistant) had said closer to Second so I thought I'd turn right. But I saw the address was between Second and First. So I had to turn left. I didn't see the office and went down the stairs at 310 East 65th Street and the doors were automatically opening for me, which was vey nice, but then the doorman appeared and told me I had passed the vet's office. I had to turn around and go back upstairs. It wasn't a lot of stairs but it had been a trek, even tho thankfully Igloo is not heavy.

So then I walk down two flights of stairs to get to the door of the vet's. I speak to the woman I had spoken to on the phone about Igloo's age and what kind of shots he'd had. She looked in his mouth and ascertained that he was not 5 months, as I'd said, but was six months and suggested I give him a distemper shot. So what was once a freebie neutering, which would have been in a mobile van, became $40, which was actually out-of-date and turned out to be $65, but now turns out to be $90. Which is better than the $200 or more from my vet on Columbus Avenue, but it's not zero.

While I've been talking to this assistant and tending to igloo the dog that was in the office when I first arrived has come right over to me and is hanging out in a very sincere way. He's not wagging his tail or panting or wiggling, but ust being there in this wonderful way. So I pet him and start talking to him. He's like a husky, with that kind of husky hair, only he's kind of a sienna color. The woman on the bench says his name is Lucky and that he needs a home. She hs top give him away. I didn't ask why. I immediately thought of my friend Laura and her family - 2 kids - except they already have a dog, which is because of me. I thought they would love this dog and the dog wouldn't be all over laura. I told the assistant about the pet case opening and she suggested I invest in a better one, which I have, but it's large and heavy. It's mainly for airplanes. Somehow other cases had appeared, stacked on top of each other, with cats inside i guess, but she took Igloo into another room and sid I should call at 1:30. I don;t know why I've been having such a hard time with him getting neutered, but it has been worrying me. And even though the office looked wonderful and clean and professional, as was the assistant - professional - I still felt concern. Was igloo going to be allright. But I left. What else could i do? He did have to be neutered.

Some months ago I read in one of the daily newspapers - one of the free ones - that District Attorney Morgenthau was considering changing the law concerning the statute of limitations. This specifically concerned rapists. There was someone around who had maybe surfaced after a long time and was again raping women. I may not have all the particulars correct about this particular rapist, but that they were thinking of eliminating the statute of limitations was of particular note to me. Why? Because I was raped in 1985. In the summer. A date rape. And as it turned out I did not choose to prosecute this person for various and sundry reasons, which I will go into later. The point is, this article brought to mind my own rape and I was hot to trot. I decided to write to Morgenthau and tell him that this was a wonderful idea. It's more than a wonderful idea and I probably wouldn't put it in those terms. I hope I'd be much more serious and provoking. To this date I have not yet written the letter. Yet. The second thing that happened was I tried to recall the name of my rapist. I drew a blank.

In the ensuing months or years after my rape, I made a folder and called it, of course, The Rape Folder. I was sure that in moving from Queens, that folder was one of the things that would definitely stick in my mind and have such importance for me that no matter what state I was in, I would have the presence of mind to include it in the packing boxes. I went looking for it. Mainly because it had the name of my rapist in it. I looked and looked but it was nowhere to be found. I probably wrote down the whole incident in one of my journals, as I wrote a lot at that time, but which journal it was in was anybody's guess. My journals now were up in the closet. High up with other stuff above, below and around them and it would be a pain to get them down. Plus, I had no idea which journal it was in. Even tho I could have roughly found it by date. But again, I didn't know whether i even had it.

Memory is pretty incredible and the mind, of course, works in mysterious ways. Locked in my memory somewhere was the name of this bastard. But I'd moved on and I hadn't really concerned myself with this incident for some time. I thought that by the very nature of the topic and the incident being called to mind that his name would surface. But it didn't. I knew that pressure wouldn't help, so I would ask myself every so often, and my therapist would ask me as well, "what is his name"? "Did you think of it yet"? My answer was always no.

I found out that I could get the police record concerning this "crime" from One Police Plaza. I returned to the 20th Precinct on 82 St. between Columbus and Amsterdam, where I had been interviewed by a detective, where my case had been written up, and got a form as well as instructions as to what to do. Basically, I had to fill out the form, which had me put down as much information as possible (minus narrating the rape), and what precincts were involved. I also had to have the complaint number. Now it just so happened that I still had a letter from the police or the courts from 1985 and on it was a complaint number. So I wrote that on the form.

I dragged my feet about sending in this form. This could have been in May that I found this out. And I still had the form in September. I carried it around with me and refused to mail it for some reason. But I finally did send it in. You had to send in $15 dollars for the information and a self-addressed stamped envelope.

Monday or Tuesday I opened the mailbox and there was my envelope. All this time, from May until now, I still had not been able to think of this creep's name. It just refused to appear. So of course I was more than eager to read the report and finally see the name. I was on my way out of the building when I opened the mailbox I put everything down and tried to open the letter immediately. They had scotchtaped it so much that it just wouldn't open. Unbelievable. So I'm thinking they've scotchtaped it because of this important document they're sending me. I left and went to the subway and sitting down waiting for the train I took out the envelope and tore it down the side. I took out the contents and something said that what I was holding seemed very much like what I had sent in. And as I kept unfolding the paper, that's exactly what it was. The form that I sent in to One Police Plaza, with my check, and they had put an explanation form on top of it. The had checked the box that said that my complaint number was incorrect.

My response was WHAT THE FUCK!

I think it was the next day that I called the precinct, which I'd decided to do because I just didn't have the time to go over there, and I finally got the right "Complaint Office" and spoke to someone, a woman, who was surprisingly very pleasant and quite helpful. She put me on "hold" several times, but she always came back within a reasonable amount of time. Before I wanted to kill her. But she couldn't find my name or my complaint number and she said that it was probably because it was from 1985 - 20 years ago. Computers have taken over and they didn't put EVERYTHING on the computer. They picked a year to start from and 1985 probably wasn't it. She said I should come to the precinct and talk to a detective.

I had had therapy on Tuesday and had forgotten to mention the letter to my therapist. But today I did. She couldn't believe what had happened and again she asked me if I had remembered his name. And again I said that it just wasn't surfacing. And then maybe 10 or 5 minutes later there it was. I said it. GERARD.

Of course, one of the first things I said was that we have to write this name down. Which she did and I did too. GERARD. It was so incredible to have just.......... said it. It was like you know things will happen and they don't for some time and then they do and it's just weird the way they happen. It was such validation of my brain or something. Or the fact that this thing that had happened to me was so monumental that there was no way I would forget anything, even the person's name who I hardly knew at all. And in the end I hadn't betrayed myself by forgetting.

Then of course my therapist asked me: "what about his last name"? I sat for a minute and waited for it to appear, maybe, but it didn't. I had no idea how long it would take for the last name to appear. I even entertained the idea that maybe I really didn't know his last name. But I knew I did. I knew I knew this creep's full name.

Okay. I still could go home and make a mess looking for his name, but there was really no reason to. There was no urgency really. Nobody was waiting for any information from me, from which by then forwarding this information, would make it possible for him to be arrested again. The law still hadn't changed. And now I couldn't really rely on "the system" to supply me with the information.

I left therapy at 4:45. Went to a stationery store and then went to Balducci's for food. There was a bottleneck at the cashier lines so I eneded up only having a half hour to get to work. But I was at 66th Street so by just getting the IRT local, then switching to the Express and probably then getting a cab from Chambers, I'd just make it. When I went down into the station a train was just leaving. I grabbed a water from the "booth" which was only $1 instead of the $1.25 that other places like to gyp you with. Another train came pretty quickly and I found a seat. I was sitting, holding my packages, not really thinking about anything and suddenly his last name was there. Right in my brain, like flashing on a video screen or something. Fucking incredible. Once I'd gotten the first piece, his first name, it had only taken 17 minutes to get the rest, his last name. What is it? CLARK or CLARKE. I think there's an "E" on the end. GERARD CLARKE. That fucking bastard.

Gerard is a weird name. It's tricky. I feel it represents him well. It's not like Jack or Bob or Robert or Charles or Gus. In saying it, it gets muddled in your mouth. It's not up front. It hides. Which I believe is why it's taken a while. And I don't think it's an uncommon name, but it tries to escape. It's cunning.

I called the police precinct after I got to work. I asked for the Detective Squad and a detective told me I should ask someone on the ground floor ti look for my complaint number. Well they're not going to find it because someone already looked. I didn't say that tho. But I asked him if there was any way that I could find out if this person, my rapist, had a record. A record of other rapes, perhaps. He did say that it was probably on public record. Then he put me on hold for a really really long time. So i called back and finally got another detective who was a big pain. His attitude was that this had happened "so" long ago that it wasn't worth dealing with. I'm sure he's never been raped. He was so unhelpful, until the end of our conversation. He said it was a closed case, and even if the statute of limitations didn't exist, most likley the case would never be opened again. I kept questioning him and in the course of doing so he came up with that there's a warehouse somewhere in brooklyn where they have old records. Of course he didn't know where in Brooklyn. But that's something. Finally he told me that I should call Morgenthau's office and ask for Witness Services Aid. And gave me the telephone number (212) 335-9000.

Back then I knew where Gerard lived. I even knew where he worked. That I've forgotten, but he lived in an apartment complex on Fifth Avenue near 110th Street. Maybe it was 108th Street. I called information but he wasn't listed there. The only Gerard Clarke in Manhattan lives on East 49th Street. I knew that couldn't be him but I called anyway. It's a Gerard with a french accent. So then I asked for Brooklyn and found a Gerard Clarke on Cleveland Street, wherever the fuck that is.

So I guess you want to know what happened. My Rape Story.

Saturday was october 1st and I was able to concentrate on my music for most of the day. I don't think i went outside at all. Worked on the 1st movement of Beethoven's Waldstein. It's finally come together. It seems like there are so many different sections and it's taken forever to connect the dots, so to speak. I feel like I started working on it last year. That means maybe 12 months ago. Which it wasn't because I didn't start studying until mid October. I'm really picking at myself. So fucking what if it's been a year. The main thing is it's in my grasp. Not performance ready yet, but in my grasp. And will probably perform it the end of October. Amd I also worked on the Oscar Peterson piece. It's an uptempo piece and has solos in different variations. So I'm almost finished with that. Then I rememorized another Scarlatti. Kind of a medium tempo. I'd started memorizing it months ago but then put it away. I was surprised at how much I remembered.

My right eye is driving me crazy. It's tearing and it continuously feels like there's an eyelash that needs to come out. I'm thinking that maybe there's one of these airfreshener things nearby, which I can smell. And maybe that't irritating my eye. It's 1:36 and I'll be leaving soon.

A little while ago I looked up the Tibetan Book of the Dead. August Wilson died yesterday and so did Nipsey Russell. Mary told me about Nipsey. For those of you reading this that don't know either of these gentlemen, August Wilson was.............. The word "was". Doesn't the Bible go: "and the word 'was' God? Anyway the word "was",on face value, seems so insignificant. He was, she was, etc. He was at the store. And then somebody dies and instead of saying he is this or she is that, you're saying she was.

This scent is really quite strong and I don't know where it is. Why wasn't it bothering me before? I just didn't really notice it. Mary was talking to me for a long time and then I was away from my desk.

August Wilson was a playwright. He wrote this 10-play chronicle of Black life. The tenth was just recently performed in Los Angeles. The title has something to do with Golf. Ten plays and he never finished school and they all were performed, the plays. Awesome. I feel so stupid still when I read about people and how prolific they are/were. I try not to take it too seriously. It's not the meaning of life. And Nipsey. I think he was mainly a poet, as concerns his art form, and he was an actor as well. He also could have been a dad for all i know.

In the Tibetan Book of the Dead, they describe the time after death. You go through something called a bardo or bardos. Your soul, I guess, goes through a journey (the bardo) before it finally reaches where it's going. If you believe in that, which I guess I kind of do. Why not. So there are certain rituals to be performed, if one wants to perform them according to Buddhist or Tibetan Buddhist tradition. And performing these rituals helps the soul on his or her way. I couldn't really find what I was looking for. I did find something about what William Burrough's friends and "fans" did for him. They burned a lot of his things. They had this huge ceremony, which I think lasted for several days. And I found out he wrote a book on Cats.

So failing being able to perform a Buddhist ritual for August (how can you not go wrong with a name like August) and Nipsey, I'd just like to offer a prayer for their safe journey and thenk them for giving us joy.

Nipsey was called the Poet Laureate of TV, was on the Match Game a lot and was the Tin man in the WIZ with Michael and Diana.

So quickly back to the weekend. There was the beethoven, Scarlatti, Oscar Peterson and I started rememorizing a Brahms plus a Chopin Prelude (in G Sharp Minor, that I was given when I was in High School) and a Chopin Etude - a showy one. Sunday I was not as productive as I was on Saturday.

So that brings me up to the 3rd of October, today.

Got myself up and out to return to Fed Ex Kinko's on Vanderbilt Avenue between 46th and 45th. No more police or blockades. I could walk in front of the Roosevelt Hotel. It took 2 hours, but I walked away from Kinko's with my finished cd cover booklet and the back - my photo of my sister's front window. I didn;t feel excited about it because it took so much effort and fighting to get what I wanted and even at the end I didn't get everything I wanted. I came away feeling that that's how life is. You never really get what you want. Except I had a great time in Brazil. Maybe because I had few specifications. I don't know. Maybe there were more surprises.

Where is this fucking smell coming from?

I'm about to leave. And I'm never sitting over here again.

Want to end with giving myself many many many kudos for accomplishing this finished cd that I conceived. An artistic idea that became a finished reality. A biggie for me.

What you have to look forward to: I wrote a piece on friday about films that are out that i might see - if i was going to the movies.

And i also started a piece in the winter garden which has to do with cleaning ladies. Have to find a better title. Was watching Sophie out of her role as cleaning lady. Found it interesting.

Chow baby.

I ended up taking a cab to work and didn't know whether I would get there on time. But I did. I go down the West Side Highway and lots of times traffic is at a crawl, especially once you're on level ground and there are traffic lights - in the fifties - making it touch and go whether I'll arrive on time, which then defeats the whole purpose of why i took a cab in the first place. But nevermind. Traffic was moving today, thank God, Cause I only had a half hour. And I just made it. Clocked in at 5:29. My starting time is 5:30 and I've been making it a point for the past few months (ever since I was put on warning for a few things at work, one of them being my arrival time) to arrive at work at least a half hour before. If I start out really early, it doesn't matter if the train hangs out inbetween stations or I have to wait 10 or fifteen minutes for a bus. Today it was back to praying for us not to have to wait in traffic one moment longer than necessary. I was really anxious. But on the way the sky was an absolutely gorgeous blue with a few clouds. It was really beautiful out. The air was crystal clear. The Hudson was on my right and there was a sailboat out on the river, one with 3 rather large sails. What kind of life does a person have to be able to be sailing on the Hudson River in the middle of the week at 5:15PM in the afternoon? Maybe it was tourists. Several people were standing at the water's edge (not literally of course) with their backpacks on their back just looking out at the water, or New Jersey, and then there were the bikers and runners on the West Side Path. I didn't see anyone on the trapeze today. Maybe I was looking on the east side. But a helicopter was landing at the heliport. I don't think you could get me in one of those. But I am itching to try the trapeze. Acutally, I had moved from the right side of the cab - one of the large ones - to the left side because the sun was so strong. I tried to see how the buildings looked in the daytime. That's the side I'm on at night, going home. I saw a woman exit a fairly new large building complex, one I'm not familiar with, walking her dog. The building almost looked unlived in and the exit/entrance was on the very busy West Street, even tho it was back aways. And I saw 2 new streets I'd never heard of: Laight and Hubert. I had known someone by the name of Hubert. I had hired him at my previous full time job. A law firm in the Lipstick Building on Third Avenue. I think I'd hired him for a third shift operator. He was a young smart black guy. Very computer savvy. Kind of short. And after I left, he held down my position as Supervisor. I imagined telling someone I lived on Hubert Street or Laight Street. Who ever heard of Hubert Street and what kind of directions do you give? At the very large ball field at about Chambers Street, which is about 3 or 4 blocks from work, lots of kids were playing various kinds of ball games. Some parents, it looked like, were standing around looking very unathletic and then there were other adults participating. On the street corner, I saw some rather large built women. They didn't look like they could participate in the athletic activities either. And I gave myself a small lecture that said, "and if you don't start back with your exercise routine, you're going to be just like that person on the corner, young lady."

My day had not gone as planned and as an added little pinprick, I had discovered about 4 small dots of purple on my white shirt. I had succumbed to a Berry Lean yesterday and no matter how hard you try to sip carefully, something seeps out or you drip as you're drinking or sucking the liquid. Just last week I had spilled some vegetarian chili on this same shirt and had had to do a whole number with clorox bleach and seltzer. That was on the bottom of the shirt and later I found some on the sleeve. These little dots were right as I looked down upon my chest. I thought I might get to Fed Ex Kinko's today to hopefully have a final session about my cd booklet but I didn't get up early. I also hadn't set the alarm which I pretty much don't do these days, but even if I had set the alarm I'm sure I would have gone back to sleep. Once I did get up I went right to the piano. I was playing for a little while and then I began to think of my sister in Los Angeles. We hadn't talked for a while. It was around 1 something so she should have been up. I stopped playing to give her a call and I guess that's what turned the rest of my 3 hours around. The 3 hours I had before having to go to work. She was not awake and began to tell me about the previous night and why she was still very tired. She had had a social evening with a friend/lover(?)and she'd had champagne and a pina colada. Just when she was ready to go home someone called - a record producer that she hadn't heard from for a long time. She didn't really know him that well but he was supposed to have called sometime ago and hadn't. It seems L.A. is notorious for people saying they will get back to you and just never doing it. My sister is a singer, actress who is earning her living as a massage therapist. That's why she was calling. He asked her if she would be able to give a massage. It turned out that she gave a massage to Mariah Carey. And then she gave the record producer's assistant her cd and video. Hopefully SOMETHING will happen. In the midst of talking someone calls her so she says she'll be right back. Before I can object. She's away for some time and I'm getting pissed because I hate to be on hold and also because I think call waiting's rude. She finally comes back and says it's the guy that's working on her refinancing for her home. Well the last time I was talking to her the same thing happened. She put me on call waiting for him, a while, and then she had to get off the phone and do something with him that had to do with her refinancing. She said she would call me back. I went back to playing the piano and a little while later the phone rings. I figured it was her so I went to answer it and I was also going to tell her that I couldn't talk because I was practicing. The whole conversation then is about this financing thing and she says she'll call me back. Okay I say and we hang up. And then I called her right back and said that she wasn't to call me back because I was practicing. It wasn't very long after I was playing again that the phone rang. And when I picked it up and it was her. I said, I thought I told you not to call me because I was practicing. So then I got the whole story or rather the punchline. She's been trying to get her house refinanced since early August and it hasn't happened yet. But in the meantime she still owes a mortgage payment for September and it tuns out the guy she's working with thought she wanted it done for October. Bottom Line: She needs $1,900.00 and she doesn't have it. She tried to tell the Bank people that she had a relative involved in Katrina. That gem of a story was suggested by the refinancing guy. But since it wasn't "her personally", the Bank said, it didn't matter. No go. This is not the first time my sister has called needing money. It's not like every month she calls, but this has happened quite a few times. I even think she'd ask me for money when she was living with her boyfriend. But who's counting. Anyway, usually she says to send, if I can, whatever I want. In the past I've had the money to give her - I say give, because she's never paid me back. Well, maybe once. But at this point in time, I really don't have any extra money. So her payment is due on September 30th and it's for a lot of money. I tell her that I absolutely absolutely have to have it back. And my voice reflects that I mean what I'm saying. She tells me that she'll be getting money from her life insurance in about 15 days or less and the rest she can give me when the refinancing is finished. So what am I supposed to do? Be a bad guy? And then suppose something happens and for some reason the life insurance payment doesn't come through or the refinancing doesn't go through. It's the end of the month, which also means the beginning of the month and bills are due. By this time it's 2:15 in New York and the banks close at 3. I tell her I'll put the money in her account. In order to do this, I have to get dressed and go out, etc. Which means I have to stop practicing and most likely that'll be it for the piano today. Maybe I had a half hour to 45 minutes today tops. And of course that was the case. First I had to get dressed and wash up and stuff. Then I went to my bank (HSBC), 2 blocks away. Two long blocks. And thankfully there was no line. Then I walked another block to her bank, Citibank, where there was a line. Then I went to the grocery store, went to PetCo for some cat food and then walked a couple of blocks to Mana, a macriobiotic restaurant, where I'd ordered food to take with me to work for dinner and then took a cab home since I had quite a few packages. I got home, had to feed the cats, give them water and change the litter. Called my sister (who rather surprisingly called me her guardian angel), gathered up garbage, ate some cereal, traipsed after the cats in the hallway, which meant I had to go up a few flights and get one, bring him home and then go back and get the other one. By this time it was 4:45 and I should have left the house at 4:00. Maybe 4:15 at the latest. And even though I had taken out some money for myself when I went to the bank, because of my prior excursions and expenses, I was short for cab fare down to the World Financial Center. So I had to go to the bank at the corner before hailing a cab. And it's not "my" bank so I get charged a buck fifty.

Well it's Friday. And I'm at work and was assigned to the desk of another word processor who is assigned to 2 or 3 attorneys, so she does not sit in the word processing center. So because I've never sat at her computer, after I logged on it took a very long time to log me on and then it shut down and had to power up again. I just want to come in and sit down, turn on the machine and start. But no. So that's one thing. Lots of phones ringing. That's another. So i tried to go to windows media and get some music. Very frustrating. The other thing is I don't really know any of the attorneys over here. So if I answered the phone, which I'm not, I wouldn't know whether the attorney was here or not. I don't know their names or who they are when they walk by. I suppose I could get up and walk past the offices and try to get acquainted. That would be something. So I made the effort.

I meditated this morning. Well it was this afternoon by the time I got up. I had dozed through an episode of ER and golf was now on. Like I said, I meditated. For fifteen minutes. In the bathroom. I'm not sure it helped me. I went to make a phone call and there was no dial tone. I kept checking for a few minutes and then knew I had to dress and go outside and call Time Warner. I had to pay for the time on the phone - a dollar - and I lost time that I could have been home at the piano. I asked the customer service person why my phone was out and my cable was on. Her answer: sometimes that happens. She gave me a surge (whatever that means) and by the time I got back home there was indeed a dial tone. And I didn't have to reset anything as she was suggesting I do. I did play the piano for about 30 minutes or so and that felt good. And I got a cab pretty quickly. At 79th Street there was a huge tieup but it disappeared after 10 blocks or so and traffic on the West Side Highway was nil from then on until the World Financial Center. So now I'm here and its (a) a long time to power on; (b) an attorney has his speaker phone on and the other person he's talking to has a very loud voice; (3) an attorney came over to ask for help. I brought up the document and it started to automatically print out the whole thing (glitch 1). Miraculously I solved her problem but then the system said that I was still in 2 versions of the document, even though I had closed out. And this is what happens and kevin wrote me a note about it. The HELP DESK solved the problem but the person said that they accessed a different version of Imanage, which alarmed me because I thought the correction I'd made might not be there, and then she said in this situation you have to power off and then power back on again. It happens periodically she said. No other explanation or way to prevent.

Piano-wise: I worked on a section of the Waldstein and a section of the oscar peterson tune. They both show great improvement. So I should be happy. I'm still not able to let the rest of this stuff just slide off me. Especially as it's happening. I get pissed, upset, agitated, worked up, out-of-sorts. But I don't go and take things out on people physically. I say that because I bought the Daily News today (for 50 cents instead of 25 cents) and I read about another female rapper. Her name is Foxy Brown. She will have a trial date for December 5. The reason: she is charged with assaulting 2 nail salon workers back in August 2004. Apparently she entered the salon (in Chelsea) at closing time and wanted a manicure and a pedicure. Because they were closing the told her she could have the manicure, but she'd have to pay for the package deal and come back for the pedicure. Foxy refused the deal offered, words escalated and she ended up hitting both workers with the cell phone she had in her fist, and kicked one of them. The prosecution has offered her a plea to a misdemeanor with 10 days of community service and it was reported that Ms. Brown said, "I feel like I'm being railroaded. Plus she has a hearing problem that she's scheduled to get surgery for that she said will "drop her public image". I have no idea what that means. And then a couple of pages later I read that Kate Moss, the model, has already been dropped by Burbewrry, Chanel and H&M and that because of tabloid photos showing her apparently arranging and snorting lines of white powder. Rimmel (whoever that is)will probably follow suit. The article stated that it's known that models do cocaine; that a couple of the companies that had hired her did so because she is a cutting-edge personality who brings a whiff of rock n' roll to their brands. Then the article predicted someone else will probably triple her contract and give her a giant deal that generates much publicity. The consensus of the article was that this will blow over.