I got a label maker at work. I can’t begin to explain how much I’ve wanted a label maker in my adult life. Never have gotten one, because even though the desire is there — my practical self can’t really find a use for one in the home. Labels in the home would seem too . . . well just too organized. And total organization isn’t what I want when I’m at home. There needs to be a corner or two (or table or two) that is wild and unkempt and totally mysterious. Will the bill go unpaid? How big can that dust ball get?
But work me is different. There are a million things I could label. I’m a librarian after all. Tagging and naming and organizing is part of the process. (Ignoring my desk, of course.) So this month begins the new subscriptions that I’ve ordered. I do so love the beginning of a fiscal year. And with that, the chance to re-organize my magazines. Behind me now, the labels are all neatly lined on the shelves, identifying place, providing order. Well, it makes me happy. It’s like I can pretend to be this other person. Part of me wonders if that’s what work should be — our pretend grown up selves, making labels and writing reports and being serious about things that matter to others. All the while masking that little girl in adult clothes and makeup and schedules — but she’s still there, gleefully making labels, knowing this is all just make-believe.