The Surreal (PAST?) Life

Yesterday I was discussing Delta Hotel's dilemma (using code words of course!) with two friends on two seperate occasions. First was my dear friend ElEn. She gave me the sage, but somewhat out of context advice, "When the student is ready, the master appears." Interesting, but as it had little more than nothing to do with my tirade of complaints, I didn't give it much thought. Later, during Gee Dubya's rude interuption of Rosa Park's funeral, I was reminded by EmEl that I had not yet consulted a higher power. Pray, meditate, dance around a tree stump nekkid, whatever, I hadn't done it.

While the offspring were at school today I wore myself out with so many errands that I found myself in desperate need of an obscenely priced latte. While I was in Starbucks, searching for a place to sit, a man slid a newspaper away from his face and said,
"Hey there, Didi."
It was our great mystical philosopher friend The Jackamaniac! So, I sat down with him and prepared to listen, as one who sits with The Jackamaniac will surely recieve an education. He told me some of his latest theories on child raising and Genesis v. Big Bang, then I slipped in some hints about Delta Hotel's decision. (or lack thereof) After a moment of stony faced introspection, The Jackamaniac came up weith the most beautiful and profound theory, likening Delta Hotel to the king on a chess board. Every life is a story, he said. Delta Hotel's story might include this decision, but he must be careful how he weaves the tale for his daughters. He said that Delta Hotel must decide whether to be part of the few for the good of the many, or part of the many for the good of the few. Suddenly, a woman neither of us had ever met came and sat down beside us. She fit into the conversation as if she'd been there all along, and neither The Jackamaniac nor eye even raised an eyebrow at her presence, which is wierd enough alone. But then she looked at me with eyes as startlingly blue as the November sky and she told me to operate from a feeling of unconditional acceptance. She stood up, thanked us for including her and handed me her business card. As I put it in my wallet I looked at it and read "Divine Intervention." Now, I don't know if that would wierd you out or not, but two prophesies from the day prior had been fulfilled at Starbucks, no less. I stood up to leave as well, I had to pick up the girls and the milk and eggs I had left in the car were in frantic need of a refrigerator. I said, "It was really nice to meet you again," gave The Jackamaniac a hug, and turned to leave.
"You just said 'again'", said the stranger.
And so I did. Have we met before? Hmmm.

Later, Delta Hotel and I went to "mediation" to help him make up his mind and to help me to keep myself from choking him before he does it. Really, it's therapy. I am so freaking happy to have a therapist I could do cartwheels. If I'd known how great it is to tell all your problems to someone whose sole purpose is to listen patiently then fix them, I'd have been in therapy all along. My friend ElBee said that I better not like therapy too much or I will turn into Woody Allen. Let me know if you see this happening, okay?