The end of the (hi)story

To tell the truth, my cherished dream was to become a historical archeologist, to move to the US and to make a sensational discovery. Sometimes I thought that I was on the right side of the post. I associated with some archeologists from Russia and USA, read many historical books and wrote some papers ‘bout history of Siberia and Russian America, participated in several excavations and conferences. But this summer I stopped my historical work. Suddenly I realized that I’m too weak to force usual difficulties which prevent anyone who want to become a historian. 

I met history long ago, where I was about 10-years-old. It was love at first sight. We were together for many days and nights, and it was nice and funny. We met many people who liked us, and we were happy to plan our future. But we parted.

If I’d been braver and more foolhardy, if I hadn’t been afraid of making my dreams to come true, maybe I would have tried to combine IT and history. But today I just think, “Poor me!” What a load of rubbish! I’m missing ‘bout my sleepless nights, spent on reading; ‘bout my trips; ‘bout my dreams to go to US as a young historian. 

I still adore local history museums and I’m really proud that I know those who, for example, transferred many museum pieces from USA to the possession of museums of Irkutsk and Shelekhov.

But I wasn’t in Alaska in August, 18, where I was going to represent a paper and to participate in excavations, ‘cause I didn’t have money to pay the trip. And I didn’t wrote any articles, ‘cause my ex-teacher always added herself name to my papers. And I don’t read books, ‘cause there are no one who are interested in my knowledge. Maybe, it's the end. Maybe, it's a respite and we'll be together again.