What? I'd know. I was a psych major for about three minutes.
Okay. That's a lie. I was never officially a psych major. But only because I was too young! For a good week freshman year I was all about psychology. And not only because my psych TA was ridiculously adorable. So adorable that he was christened, and still referred to as, Hot TA.
Okay. That's a lie too. Hot TA was a big part of it. But I do love psychology, and I would love to be a psychiatrist, but that's just the thing. I'm from the "go big or go home" school of thought, and therefore, while I have every respect for therapists and psychologists and they work very hard and have advanced degrees and do tremendous amounts of good, if I'm going into psychology, I want a prescription pad.
(This life philosophy also came into play when my younger brother, slightly annoyed that I occasionally scream "SEMINARY!" at him, suggested that maybe, in an attempt at peace, he would become a deacon. I told him that was ridiculous.)
And I furthermore know that any admissions department at any medical school anywhere other than..oh, I don't know...San Salvador would laugh so hard at my application that they would choke.
("No! Really! She took Chemistry for Non-Science Majors! And got an A-! BAHAHAHAHAHA.")
So. That's out as a career path.
Where was I going with that? Oh! Right! Narcissism. Because this next sentence is kind of narcissistic. Sometimes I don't like to update my blog because I really liked the last post I did, and then it gets shoved down on the page and no one will ever love it again. Not that I think the post was particularly brilliant, but I just liked it.
Last night's post? Was not one of those. Should you care, there's a lot of blah blah grad school blah blah going crazy blah blah I don't think they're ever going look at my application blah blah why are any of you still friends with me? Blah. So...scroll down for that. Anyway, I have no compunction about posting this, then.
Except I don't really have anything to say. Except that I like saying "compunction."
Ooh! I could talk about Northern Ireland's various sex scandals. You know, how the First Minister's wife slept with a 19-year-old and her name is literally Mrs. Robinson and now she's been forced out of Parliament and he's on leave and the government could collapse because I've said it once and I'll keep saying it until, well, the government collapses but THE GOOD FRIDAY ACCORDS DID NOTHING, oh, and Gerry Adams' brother is a pedophile?
Because there are four things in the world that make me happy.
1.) Watching the British fail at partition.
2.) Dramatic political events involving centuries-old tensions.
4.) Ecumenical councils.
Three out of four isn't bad.
Meanwhile, I can't wait for my independent study on Northern Ireland to start. Maybe I can write about the effects of inappropriate conduct on the implementation of police powers.
And title will be "Good Friday is just Sunningdale 2.0 and Trust Me, It Didn't Work Any Better in 1998 Than It Did in 1974. Oh, and Iris Robinson Is Kind of a Slut."
It's going to have to be in very small letters.
But I'll probably get an A. The professor. He loves me.