If there were a reality show called “America’s Next Top Historian” or some such, and I were on the show, I’d be the girl who gets cut because she doesn’t want it badly enough. All the other boy and girl aspiring-historians would be sweating and panting and cutting each other’s throats in their efforts to concoct the most original theses, and I’d be the one standing there in a cute outfit pointing at the cover of some monograph: “Ooh, I like the font on that one.”
Just a strange comparison that suddenly popped into my head. I think it’s pretty apt. I’m not going to think about it any more just yet, because I for once am actually getting some work done tonight. But in a few hours, soon as I turn off the lights and get into bed, I think I’ll spend my last waking moments of the day trying to figure out just what this means.
[This post was imported on 4/10/14 from my old blog at satsumabug.livejournal.com.]