I recently received and e-mail from the head of the history department with a call for papers. Apparently, they can fund a certain number of students to go to this conference in April, and if you submit an abstract, you have a change to be accepted. Oh, and there’s even a meeting about abstracts and what they should look like because we’re stupid undergraduates who can barely dress ourselves. Tomorrow. At ten a.m.

This is a fantastic opportunity. I could in theory actually publish my senior thesis, and at the very least I’d get some idea of what the hell and abstract is or how one goes about writing one before I apply for a job that consists mainly of writing abstracts. Oh, and there’s that whole I’d get to hang out with a bunch of drunk historians for a weekend part that’s pretty awesome, too.

Except. I’m usually in Starbucks at ten a.m. on Mondays. Doing homework. Or reading. Or not paying for parking. All of these things I’d rather be doing that sitting in the basement of Bolton learning about how to write an abstract.



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