I’ve wasted a week of precious time this summer on an entirely frivolous personal week. I’ve had friends up from College Station, visited a friend in Killeen–in order to watch the LOST finale and drink beer–and, now, I’m going to visit the same friends I just had up to my home at theirs in College Station. There’s a meltdown looming on the horizon, when I get home and realize how much work this means I haven’t done. Next up are Pilgrim’s Progress and Leviathan. At some point, this will lead to a Bunyan-esque allegory of the summer (I hope). For now, here’s a Miltonic parody. Enjoy.
How soon hath youth, the raucous thief of time
Stol’n on his wing my summer’s first full week.
My reading days pass by me in a streak,
My wasted spring in bureaucratic grime.
Perhaps my brain can justify this crime:
If, in my work, I made my mind too weak,
Some books I read would simply seem antique
That with more timely rest I’d find sublime.
But whether I work hard or harder play,
The clock will still in strictest measure tick
And hours, weeks and fortnights pass me by,
Rushing toward examination day.
All hangs, if I work slow or I work quick,
As ever on the grad commitee’s ”Aye.”
