I said he would you know he did

Good God!  I wrote notes for this post but I can’t read them.  I wrote on the back of a print out of my medical follow-up appointments. I was in a hurry to meet my friend– let’s see what it says on there…inysprit byt clurs nrtin I’ve been in a time warp Buffalo Springfield  mew miu meia soul sixties garage music ivaautinnnng.

Got it?  What it might be saying is that for the last couple of days I have lived in a 1960s time-warp, far away from the misery of now as I can be.  That future that I fantasized when I was a child back then never materialized, except for the fantasy about being able to eat whatever the fuck I want for dinner, like cakes and strudels.

Now I am a girl in the 1960s wearing pleather go go boots and a hippy vest.  Listen to the sixties garage music.  Listen to the music of your grandparents, who were much cooler than you:

The voice of this singer reminds me a little of Neil Sedaka:

Try this on  — Cream’s the shit!

And, oh yeah, Buffalo Springfield rules!

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I only ever dreamed of being an artist like my dad.  It’s hard.  I never knew what else to do with myself.  I’m a hippy, I think really.  While my tag is Sword-Chinned Bitch, I’m not a bitch and I never wanted to be one.  My brother gave me that name when I was 12.  We’d had a fight.  I was skinny with a sharp chin.  I told people about it in adulthood and they rolled on the floor laughing, so I thought it would work well as a blogger name.  My friend years ago used to call me his hippy chick, but then he said, oh never mind, because he realized that hippies were really wealthy white kids.  I’ve also been called space cadet, kook, weirdo – most affectionately by friends.

I never thought about making money.  I don’t think in terms of money, not really.  Ask me how much I paid for something and I usually can’t tell you.  I don’t even like clothes.  I remember years ago at this company I worked for we had a X-mas party and Lou Hagopian the director said we’d all be getting a $1000 bonus – this was in 1984. We were in an auditorium at a fancy hotel.  Everybody popped up out of their seats and screamed except me.  My coworkers on either side looked down at me.  “Come on Sandee, aren’t you happy,” the one said.  “Oh yeah, sure,” I said.  I rose up to clap, but it was disconnected, an act.  I didn’t know what the fuck it meant that I would have $1000 extra bucks.

I would like to make a vocation of writing.  But I have to enjoy my day to day life and not project to a future that I would like to happen.  At this age I have learned that one needs money and it makes me neurotic.  As long as I’m comfortable being what I am I guess I’m good.