I feel like Lenny Hayes. Of course the world wound't know Lenny Hayes yet. Lenny Hayes is this character I have in my head, a character specific to the stroy I'm writing, Italian Bakery. Lenny remains unknown as he remains to be published. But this is him, let me tell, as shortly as I can. Lenny is the typical jcok, quaterback of the football team, very well muscled and debonair with his smiles. In general his intelligence is barely skating along average but his thought processing holds such bars of complexity, that even I have a hard time understanding him sometimes--and I created him. While he is complicated, he is also simple minded. It's like he has two seperate parts, one that things all this big things and others that grasp and go dull in attempts to find meaning in the other half. All in all, Lenny is most confused by emotions. He can't figure them out most of the time, and when he think he has them figured out he is often wrong in his perceptions. Lenny's worst character flaw is that these emotions he can't figure out are all his own. And right now, I, like Lenny, cannot make means or sense form my emotions.
I know emotions are complicated, perhaps the most complicated part in human beings. So it should be logical that they are not easy to figure out. Yes, this is true, but I feel as though that truth should only hold to that of other people. It is easy to say the emotions of another human being are hard to figure out. We're complicated, simply mad people. But shouldn't someone be able to identity with their own emotions. Once again, yes, I know, complicated. But you're yourself, shouldn't you know yourself. You are sad or your are happy. You can have mixed emotions, but surely you can decipher the mixed emotions you half, mixed emotions are usually a balance of good and bad terms. Like, 'Hey, I'm excited to be going on this trip,' but also 'I'm not sure if I enjoy the idea of taking said trip in such a tiny vehicle.' But what happens when one doesn't know. Why can't I, for anything, figure out how I feel? I don't know. And that's the theme, right, I don't know. If I knew this would not be the post I was typing, perhaps something else, either happy or sad. But not this, this confusion. What am I really, a human being almost twenty something girl, sitting in a house not far from the beach mearly four days before Christmas. Yes, that sounds about like me. I can identify that. But, what, may I ask, is this girl feeling?
Is she sad because things aren't how they're supposed to be, it's not like Christmas usually is, she wants to go home to Montevallo, she is tired and everything, and doens't like traveling, and all the other complaints in the world? Yes, let me tell you, it is this. Maybe, are those even reasons to be sad? No, not really. It's selfishness. It's lacking in anything less than human. So many more have is worse than you. So yes sadness, no sadness.
And happiness, it is there too. Youa re with lovely people, have eating lovely food. There is a house over your head, you have a nice boyfreind and a ncie job. In a few days you're going to see your old friends, you're going to smell the smell of growing up, it's going to be Christmas. Yes, yes, yes...but no, no, no.
I don't know. I could say this, I have mixed emotions. But I don't, I don't feel sad. I don't feel happy. There isn't some sort of mixture of both. And at the same time there is not a lack of emotion. There is something there, there has to be or I wouldn't be human, right? I don't know. I can feel it, but I don't know the feeling. It's there, pushing on me like a heavy stone, harder and harder and harder. How can I escape it, or at least figure it out. In the background people are telling these wonderful Christmas stories, they are beautfil touching things. Shouldn't I feel somehow, how wonderful they are. And then I want to leave, I don't want to be here and not sure how it should be handled in the next two and a half weeks. I want to be at Montevallo, I need classes and organization. And most of all, I need to organize my new room. Bothered, blah...this is what? I can't see. I don't feel these things, and I do, all at the same time. They surround me and cover me, but I do not know them. Heavy stones, heavy stones, heavy stones.....
I do not what I want right now, wether it be effected by my emotions or not, I know what I want. I was to be alone, I want to have music. I want to be outside, in air that's not too cold or hot. Although, prefferably, a little more on the cool side. There should be a tress above me, wide braches reaching out in long arcs and curves. Light, from the golden sun dancing between white puffy clouds, will finds it's way between the leaves. It warms my face. And there are books and notebooks, I can write and read. I want this, or even something more simple. Can I somehow make a story to read from music and crawl myself between the notes and write about all my ficitonal characters. Ones like Lenny, who I know and don't know. Who like myself are there and present. I'm not making sense, I know. The sense I make is from my words, and while it may not be apparent it is here. I still don't know. Emotions are like games...I need to figure them out before winning.
Fin.
-Keshia
Currently Reading Just Listen by Sarah Dessen
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