Poetic Procrastination

I took Introduction to Artificial Intelligence with Dr. Sanjoy Baruah my senior year at UNC. It was my first exposure to functional programming, and I had a tough time with Lisp syntax. After attempting an all-nighter to make up for some significant procrastination, my professor unexpectedly canceled class; the expression of my relief took poetic form, with apologies to Edgar Allen Poe.

Once wandered one named Alan, who ponder’d how he’d get a gallon
Out of many a quaint and curious volumed water jugs.
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly he’d find a mapping,
He’d wake, fingers tapping, clapping for those caffeinated drugs.
(defvar visitor... he fluttered, and drank caffeinated drugs.
Common Lisp kept finding bugs.

Ah, how clearly he remembered, and would’ve done dismembered
Lines and lines of silly Java code for nothing more than sport.
Woefully he mourned the morrow; he would enter, beg and borrow
For some chance to ease the sorrow, to which Sanjoy would retort
In infinite wisdom, “It’s not my fault Lisp’s not your forte. Sorry.”
Tough luck kid, in short.

As the sad forced-typing pressure, of a student who’d feel fresher
If he’d planned ahead and, like some others, slept a good night’s sleep;
Slowed, there rang the e-mail Ding. O’ what worse horror could it bring?
Is the daemon trying to sing? And Oh! How high his heart did climb!
What bliss is this? Class canceled? Salvation for his wretched crime!
This was it, he had more time.