Now I lay me down to rest…

This is an old small stanza, which I used to recite after spending a lot of time on studies I still remember those days.

Now I lay me

Down to rest,

A pile of books

Upon my chest.

If I should die

Before I wake,

That’s one less test

I’ll have to take.

Pretending to Work

The art of pretending is tricky indeed.
It takes planning, luck, and lots of speed.
Your boss comes by so you pick up the phone,
You talk to yourself in a professional tone.
A quick click required to change the screen,
So games and emails remain unseen.

If you must nap you do it with style,
With hands on keyboard all the while.
You train yourself to wake when needed
And if nobody notices, you know you’ve succeeded.
But if you’re caught you’ve got excuses to spare
You were on break, or thinking, or adjusting your chair.

Work is boring, that much we can agree
And pretending to work may just set you free.
So pretend to work if you think that you can,
But make sure you’ve got yourself a backup plan.
Always be ready to B.S. your way out,
Because that’s what pretending is all about.

All the world’s a stage

Act II, Scene 7 of As You Like It features one of Shakespeare’s most famous monologues, which states:

“All the world’s a stage

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms:

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”