Transcending ExistentialisistismdmmWhat??

People talk to me. On a bus, on the metra, on 3 hour flight, on the street, or like this evening in the middle of T.J. Maxx - people, I should say CRAZY people, look at me and for some reason feel the need to chat me up. So we're waiting for dinner this evening at Buca's in Indy, the one place in the mid-west where the pope and a picture of a partially nude woman are placed at the same level of reverence - eye level, and so we head over to T.J. Maxx for a few minutes. While wandering through the slightly dirty store that somehow I missed ever entering in my entire four years of residence in Indianapolis, I come upon a fedora. An extremely newsworthy slightly bendy, cute in the way that Kevin Federline never was...fedora. I immediately felt the urge to place this Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday style....wait wait let me interrupt and say...the crazies keep coming. I'm in the lobby of our hotel and this random male just came up to me...scared the living daylights out of me and said..."This is the second night in a row that you've been down here on the computer...who you talking too?" Well, first of all, not you scary Drew Carey man without the warm fuzziness that makes him beloved by women everywhere. And, second of all, don't you think its just a little to creepalicious accosting single females who are obviously engaged in an activity that does not require the pleasure of your company. Is it the hair or the looking like a twelve year old or the whole freckle thing? I don't know, but the point is psychopaths and issue-filled people are for some reason drawn to me... so anyway, back to the fedora. Real cute and I'm wondering if I should purchase it...I pick my way through the early fur coats and tragic pantsuits that fill the aisles and make my way over to Laurel and Hardy (two dear silly male teachers who I attended ibc with) to get their input. As I walk up, this woman in full out Erykah Badu attire, complete with dreads and scary nose ring, reaches out from the aisle to me..." Are you an artist," she asks doing this swaying to the rhythm of the universe thing as she checks the color of my aura. No. I'm not an artist. I don't tell her that I paint, but can only do feather, geometric shapes, and trees and can't even do more than one in a painting. "You must be a musician then." Sure, but not a very good one. "I can see it, you are in your ....transformation...I can feel it you are experimenting," all the while she's doing this floaty hand gesture and left right hip movement that makes me dizzy and causes me to ask myself if I'm getting my first contact high. I tell her that I sing but only for Jesus. That I'm in my process, my journey and God is helping me find my way. She doesn't get it. "So like uh I'm totally performing this transcendental existentialism flow thing at 312 MediaClub and you should like toooooooooooootally come and feel the vibe, feel my flow...there'll be food and wine." Wow, what do you say...all I wanted was an opinion on perfectly unnecessary hat instead I found out that I am an open book, my "transformation" is on display for all too see...and seriously again another man feels it is an absolute necessity to comment upon me and my computer...what the world???!? anyway, my point is that I can't remember the point, and maybe its because I've been up for 18 hours, or maybe the amazing emotional roller coaster ride that has been this weekend, maybe its just because I've eaten way to much Italian food smothered in garlic, came face to face with my past and smiled at it, fulfilled, till it looked way, and arrived at the conclusion that transcendental existentialism is one thing I don't care to ever learn about in my current quest for knowledge. Give me a bed, pillow, and a door that locks the rest of humanity out for awhile, I'm going to feel the sleeping flow and dreaming vibe....