My Pint of an Existential Crisis

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The quality of the Saturday was not the sum of its parts. I had several encouraging and fulfilling conversations over the course of the day. One of which, although perfectly civil and thoughtful, left me feeling spiritually a drift. I am reminded of a high school professor’s words concerning how trans-formative  the first couple months of college are. Suddenly I am mixing with new ideas and more profound questions. The immediate statements of inquiry are not foreign to me; I’ve encountered them before. However, now the questions are heavier. All this to say, Saturday evening I found myself grappling with God. Yet, I had a Target trip ahead of me.

My roommate and I had planned to visit the mall, later in the evening to pick up some items from Target. Thirty minutes before the shuttle left, my roommate texted me that she wasn’t coming. I could have given up on the idea of restocking my granola bar stash. However, I really just felt like getting away from my homework. Especially as the content of my reading was fueling my spiritual struggle.

So, at 8:20 p.m. I departed for some shopping therapy. I intended on wandering around Target pick out some dark chocolate and small command hooks, among other things. Then I thought I’d just take a jaunt about the rest of the mall. However, I was unaware that the rest of the mall closed at 9:00 p.m.. We had arrived at the shopping center twenty minutes before nine, so there wasn’t much else I could do besides my scouring of Target.

When it came time for the shuttle to leave I was in the middle of making a very important decision. It had to do with which Aztec print dress I bought. Because I wanted to use my $20 wisely, I decided I could wait for the next shuttle, which would come back at 10:40 p.m.. Unfortunately, I soon realized that I had exhausted my options of things to do with the rest of the mall closed. And I was worried about staying in Target, lest I empty my bank account.

At this point, I was emotionally worn from my previous internal struggling and I was only vaguely feeling better after purchasing some new mascara. Without any other options, I added a pint of Chocolate Cookie Dough Chunk ice cream. I self-consciously stole a plastic spoon from the very closed, Starbucks/Pizza Hut corner in the store and fled into the night. Or more like into the parking lot. For the next forty-five minutes I sat on the side walk of a deserted mall and ate ice cream.

I guess this is what you call an existential crisis. Sunday was a much better day though.

Veronica A. 

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