Can I be done now?

Someone kill me, please.

I finally just finished reading the forty-seven 8.5X11 in. pages worth of single-spaced, size ten font bullshit also known as Harriet Beecher Stowe’s travel narrative (a small portion of it, actually, since the whole thing consists of multiple volumes). It only took me 3.5 hours of my life. Not like I could have achieved anything actually important with those hours anyway.

I’m sure trudging through pages upon pages of mind-numbing crap will make me a more “well rounded” individual or, better yet, get me a job. “Dear prospective employer, I persevere to the point of self-abuse…”

Or maybe it was just a huge waste of my time.