Bad, bad historian.

A few months ago, someone asked me what I want to be when I grow up. I replied, quite honestly, that I wanted to marry into wealth. But, failing that, I wanted to be an historian. It’s quite a good career for me- lots of random details that no one cares about, getting to grade papers, force people to call me “Doctor”…lots of very awesome things.

Yes. That’s it. I shall be a scholar!!! All set.

Well, last semester I joined Phi Alpha Theta, a history honor society. It was obscenely expensive and did absolutely nothing except allow me to write “Member of Phi Alpha Theta” on my statement of purpose for graduate schools. Oh, and a subscription to “The Historian”, the monthly journal. Whatever. For what it cost, it should write a few papers for me.

The first issue came last week. And…it’s really boring. Like, there are no pictures. There are four eighty-page articles and then about two hundred pages of book reviews. And…that’s all.

Okay. I wasn’t expecting Tiger Beat or something with a quiz about which Jo Bro is your fave, but I kind of figured it would be more like National Geographic.

But. Turns out. No.

THEN I realized, wait. I’m going to have to (attempt) to write one of those someday. Kind of soon. And then I decided that maybe that marrying into wealth thing had better happen after all.

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