[bound fawr th uh flohr]: This was the only chart entry for Local H, which like the White Stripes were a guitarist and drummer rock duo.
Palm trees and desert lined the street of the Arizona city. That is where I went to High School. The world of everything you see on Television. The jocks with their letter jackets, the cheerleaders with their popularity, the people with the best grades, and me. The poster child for someone who does not want to be there.
Teenage angst at this highest point of all levels.
I am reading a book now “Friday Night Lights” (it is the book the TV and movie are based on) it is about American football in Odessa, Texas and it fills all the elements of what it is like to be a footballer in a typical American High School that takes it beyond all limits.
They build stadiums for these kids.
I while earlier on vacation read the book about Hope Solo, the famous women’s goal keeper in women’s football. I was disappointed it ended in 2012. I was hungry for more, I mean there are 7 years there missing. I feel robbed of at lest a few chapters.
So I did what any person would do. I ordered more sports biographies.
It’s what I do on vacation, I do my best to avoid Sollentuna, although my daughter insisted on going to ICA Maxi in Häggvik (they have toys there) so taking the ride I do to work was painful.
I don’t want to go back. I like that getting up at 07.45 is way to early (my daughter has 4H camp and that starts at 9).
I know some things about The House That God Has Forgotten. Things never change.
There is probably some good gossip out there. Someone hooking up with someone else thinking that no one has a clue, but every knows.
Someone quitting. Hasta La Vista baby! They got a new job while on vacation and are leaving us for something better.
I reflect a lot, is this where I am going to spend the rest of my days? Being one of those people that have worked at The House That God Has Forgotten for 30 years?
Will I be the one telling summer workers that I have “been here since 2011” and nothing has changed. This blog will have 500 parts, and I will still be out there looking for something to inspire me.
I wish I was a musician. My youngest half brother (who is 13 years younger and we have no contact) is a musician. He lives with his father (my mother’s ex husband), has 2 degrees and works at a doggy day care. The only thing he cares about is his band.
Sometimes I wish I could be like him.
Sometimes like the angst I experienced as a teenager… I wish that grunge music was still popular, Kurt Cobain was still alive and we were all wearing jeans t-shirts and flannel from Seattle.
I wish I was a writer. That I had an office with tons of books and a nice printer to edit things (i must always edit on paper… it is the old school in me) with.
That I got paid for doing something I love to do, if it could only be that easy. I was a bit stupid. I was on my way at the University. I was getting paid to write for the university newspaper, I had my own radio show. I was doing what I love…
Then I joined the Army to write. “To write the great American novel” I told my professor that begged me to stay.
I was 18 and dumb.
Now I am 43 and have gotten more stupid as time has gone on.
I never did write that novel I dreamed of in High School when I was having angst and doing everything to move as far away as I could.
I did. I created a new me, and I have done that more than once in my life.
A lot of people tell me I should write that book, that I should write about my life, that I should write a story about a jail and use some of The House That God Has Forgotten as an influence.
“All of the truth, but with made up characters,”
I do not know how to do that honestly, I do not know where to start, and I do not know if you would read it.
I know people read my blog, that they find it interesting to hear what I think about things.
But would you look at it if you did not see the dark man in the blue background?
Perhaps not, and that is what makes me hesitate to write for real.
I am an attention whore and need to know people would read it.
I can try my best. I can look for inspiration, I have it, but I am also plagued with fear – If you fictionalise things, or even if you write the truth… people think differently of you. Secrets come out.
Secrets bite you in the ass in the long run. We all have things we do not want other people to know about, the problem is that the secrets are so good… that sometimes it is almost important to write them.
I had an editor once. A doctor in English even. She believed in me, she corrected what I wrote, she gave me honest direction. She started to mix up our work with feelings and started to have them for me.
I felt violated and could never speak to her again.
I am easy to burn bridges. Very few people last from my past, and the one person I have connected with in the past that I would want to have contact with (non romantic I will say for the record) does not want to have anything to do with me.
I do not know what I did, but it must have been pretty bad because they never answered me.
So I know if you quit from The House That God Has Forgotten I will never see you again. As sad as it is to say… no matter what impact you had on my life, you will be another memory. Maybe a part of a chapter of a story I one day will write.
So maybe I should start writing that book? The ultimate question is how much do I post of it on here and how much do I keep locked on my computer?
Hi. My name is Calandra. My hobbies are reading and writing. Maybe someday I will write a book.
Let me know if I should.