‘I’m typing this with voice message on my phone, because I was too lazy to type it.’
Obviously, I have no idea what I’m doing.
[Editor’s note: “I don’t know what I’m doing” is a recurring personal column that pays homage to Johnny Auping’s “I have no idea what I’m doing” personal column in The New Yorker. Opinions expressed here belong only to the author, and, we hope, nobody else on the planet.–Josh Towner, opinions editor]
By Alicia Dahl | Elementary Educator
Maybe it seems like I know what I’m doing but I really don’t. I don’t know how I’m going to write this paper before class starts. I don’t know how I get anything done.
I don’t know how I’m going to keep my cool for finishing my homework, when my Wi-Fi doesn’t work. Why is it that no matter how many times you restart your computer, reboot the Wi-Fi or have someone come fix it, it still never seems to work?
I don’t know how to balance my checkbook. I don’t know how to keep my weekly and daily Caribou coffee consumption to a minimum.
I don’t know where I’m going to end up or how my life will play out. I don’t know how all the hardships in my life have so perfectly woven together to make me who I am.
How is it that there’s always something to do? Why is it that when you’re having a busy, trying day your belt loop decides to get caught on a door handle? Or, to put the icing on the cake, why does it seem like I always stub my toe on days like that too?
I don’t understand why colds are a thing, and why there isn’t a cure yet. I shouldn’t have taken being able to breathe through my nose for granted, but colds and coughs always seem to make me realize how nice it is to walk around breathing with my nose instead of with my mouth wide open, gasping for air like a fish.
I haven’t quite figured out how to make scrambled eggs that are fluffy yet, or how to make pizza without letting a piece of cheese fall down in the oven and set off the alarms. The pizza always taste good, it’s never black with burn, but when the whole house smells like it’s burning, it kind of affects the taste.
I don’t know how I’m so organized with everything I do, but somehow I’m the greatest procrastinator I know.
I don’t know how to do taxes. The only job I’ve had is nannying and babysitting. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be an adult when I put off ordering contacts for 2 weeks until I almost run out just because I hate calling to make appointments.
I don’t know what people are taken about since I haven’t watched Game of Thrones or Stranger Things, but instead I’ve memorized all the SpongeBob episodes, and I binge watched all 30 Simpson seasons within six months.
I’d consider myself a hard worker who puts her best effort into everything. But while I say that, I’m typing this with voice message on my phone, because I was too lazy to type it.
I haven’t thought of a clever way to end this paper because I winged it from beginning to end. I put it off because I knew I wouldn’t be able to come up with some relatable way to connect it to society. How am I supposed to write this when I can’t even come up with a good caption to my instagram?
I don’t know what I’m doing, I have no idea, but every day I wing it, and somehow it works out.
