To write or not to write – that is the question:
Whether ‘tis sensible and smart to wait some more
And thus, save the paper for later
Or to occupy myself with homework
And, by struggling, finish it. To toil, to write –
Same thing – and by working hard to erase
The headache and the thousand wasted worries
That mind is heir to – ‘tis a realization
Desirably attained. To toil, to write –
To write, perhaps to finish. Ay, there’s the pen,
But from that tube of ink what words may come,
When we have much more fun plans on our mind,
Must give us pause. There’s the quagmire
That always causes us to stop and think.
For who would bear the stress and sweat of work,
Th’ writer’s block, the hideous, flagrant boredom,
The pangs of creative nothing, the mind’s delay,
The rising disenchantment, and the swears
That softly penetrate the silent room,
When he himself might his ennui break
With a game of FIFA? Who would labor bear,
To think and strain over a paper due,
But that the dread of crimson grading pen,
That scar-inflicting tool from whose maw
Erupts a curséd stream, forces the issue
And makes us rather bear monotonous work
Than summon wrath and anger from the teacher?
Thus do grades attempt to make us scholars,
And thus the native hue of indolence
Is scythed through with the blatant threat of failure,
And enterprises fun but unproductive
With this regard they die, unfulfilled,
And leave no hope for play. – Soft you now,
A Frisbee game. – Guys, decide for me:
Ultimate Frisbee or homework?