Need Versus Want

i made an intensely massive discovery Saturday: there is a difference between ‘need’ and ‘want.’

it was totally weird. i have never had to make the choice before between ground beef and watercolor brushes before.

husband blames me for being spoiled, saying i never had to live on my own before, but isn’t that a blessing? it’s true i’ve always had either credit cards or a family member or husband to bail me out if shit got so tight i was gonna go in the red. it’s really “my fault” for being taken care of in a safe environment?

guess what husband, your dream came true. no longer are there paychecks for new shoes. no longer is there dual income to get that dreamy black eyeliner. hell i can’t even *think* of travel!

i get a $500 a month stipend. i have no. idea. how i’m going to make that work. that’s some insane shit for princess $1K a month.

need. i went to Jo-ann’s Fabrics to but something i “needed” to finish a project. but here’s something i like, and oh i could make a really cute dress out of this, omg! owls! score! headband!!!

at the cutting table i sobered up a little, and i put three things back. i ended up with three shortish lengths of ‘need’ fabric, two zippers (need), and then wanted: two long lengths for potential dresses and 2 short lengths for headbands. the cost was ridiculous compared to the fact that this was my last paycheck.

i came home desperately confused. need… want? what is ‘need,’ and what is ‘want.’

from now on i’ll need an extra sharp razor made from my check book’s paper cuts to peel away those layers, look at the purchase, and say to it: “can i live without you?” and answer all the ways i can survive without the owls.

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archivally safe label adhesive

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.”