To pee, or not to pee? That is the question—
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The pain and bother of a brimming bladder,
Or to depart from a sea of blankets,
And, by your absence, end the warmth withal?
To rise, to sleep—No more—
And through our steps toward the porcelain round
Assuage the aches in th’ distending sac
That litres of Pepsi make it heir to—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished! To stay, to sleep.
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,
For in waterlogged slumber, dreams may come
Of pregnant waterfalls and rivers’ haste
Or leaky faucets, dripping into sinks
That overlook the bubble-bloated tide
Along an ocean line. There’s the respect
That, as we prolong tending to our needs,
Doth make a weary, weakly bladdered-girl
Submit to her uncertain will and flee
luxurious sleep, upset by one small pea
beneath a slew, a heap, of mattresses.
Who would expose himself to unfleec’d air,
To quake and shiver ‘long his bathroom route,
But for the dread of waking up in damp-
That once-familiar shame of soiled sheets
So well established on his sheepish face?
Yet, silence ‘llows no diversion from pain;
Seclusion in what should be our repose
Renders our conscience vuln’rable to wants
And lets us not sit with our partial take
But urges us, “to toilet!”
Thus wakefulness doth weaken our resolve
And the native stubbornness of our comfort
Is perforated by suff’ring’s pushpins-
Decisions to remain, of great intent
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And go you to the bathroom still and all!