today, right now, i love me because of something a friend wrote and a commenter said. my friend wrote that she was always questioning seeing the world beyond the labels she was taught. a commenter wrote their own blog post in the responses that as an expert she declared my friend a label perpetuater. and i felt validated: i label. happily. gladly.

i think i was born to archive because i love labeling. americans (label) love labels (label), and highly identify with their jobs (labellabellabel!!!).

i was actually taught not to identify with the american dream of the label of job, but i’ve actually learned to embrace my job label. i seriously love being an archivist, and i wear it proudly like a badge, like that one time i was on a committee with my friend Koichi (japanese immigrant, archivist, really great guy) who basically steered for us both (proactive, Type A).

the weird catch is that i loved being an archivist before i was one professionally (graduate student worker), took a mental break from loving it (harsh reality), and now love it again that it’s threatened (disabled).

double threat: i’m so disabled i have a hard time working the number of hours my boss expects–and, well, i’m contracted for (supervisor)–and i’m so disabled i have the threat that really i can’t keep up with the damn job (sad).

(are the labels getting boring? [concerned, sensitive, paranoid])

so, i love these labels: i embrace these labels. weirdo, wife, alternative mother, archivist, and, the dreaded, DISABLED.

much love friends, lovers, enemies,
xoxtine

PS: you know what label i do hate? “Grammar Nazi.” i prefer “Grammrrr Grrrl.”