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I was flipping through an old notebook that I’ve used for all my Deal classes during the past two years, and came across something rather unexpected. Written in what is unmistakably my handwriting (albeit quite sloppy, as if I was half-asleep), was what could only be described as a poem. And for some reason, I’m proud of it. I don’t know why.

As near as I can emulate it with text, here it is:

Theday’s time passing by
Not asingle thing’s been done
the list grows longer still
so many things to do

Awoke this morning with a plan

I asked the gods a
question