Things I Don’t Know But Think I Might

The longer I live the more I realize how much I don’t know.  For people like me who are always trying to understand things, not knowing that I know something but thinking that I might is frustrating.

I like knowing stuff. Which is hard, because I forget so much. That’s where it get’s dangerous, because I don’t know that I know something, so I start thinking that I might know it, but do I really know it?

If I knew it and forgot it did I ever really know it? Ya know what I mean?

Here are some random things I don’t know, but I think I might know, or  might have known, which still seems to put them firmly in the unknown category, but that never stopped Donald Trump from telling us what he knows, and he got to be the POTUS so I’m not gonna let it stop me either:

*I don’t know if horses have shoe sizes. But I think I might know that they do.

I know they wear shoes, at least the well dressed ones do. And they must have different sized feet. So they must have shoe sizes.

But I don’t know if they have different size shoes. As a matter of fact, I don’t know much about them at all, because I no longer ride them. Horses did not respect me.

I think they knew that they made me nervous–those big chesty animals, with such big teeth, (and feet). I’m assuming they didn’t trust me because of my nervousness. Maybe I talked too much for them. Maybe I sweated and they could smell it. Maybe I was lousy in the saddle. When I was around horses I kind of acted like a Woody Allen character around a big chesty woman.

I’m guessing, because of course I don’t know, that draft horses–Shires and Clydesdales and such, wear large shoes, and petite horses, like Icelandics and slender Arabians, wear small shoes.

Perhaps I should google it and then I will know, because the internet knows all, sees all and tells all. And it’s 100% accurate. Then again I probably won’t because I really don’t care, I’m just trying to come up with some nonsense for a blog post, the way the White House is always coming up with some nonsense for a press briefing.

Speaking of big-footed critters:

*I don’t know if Big Foot exists. But I think I might know that he doesn’t.

I consider myself a bit of an expert on this because I live in Big Foot country. According to local legend, Sasquatch lives here and has even been known to bed up with lonely loggers’ wives from time to time and produce illegitimate Baby Big Foots. We know this to be true because of course you can believe what you read while standing in line at the IGA check out counter.

The town I reside in was even considering opening a Big Foot museum at one time. Like a lot of depressed towns, we need a hook to convince travelers to exit the Interstate and drive the three miles to our down town area. Never mind that once they get here dining options are sparse, and their only lodging option is the creepy haunted hostel right next to the noisy railroad crossing. But hey, while staying at this fine establishment,  you can actually sit on the couch where the owner’s grandmother died. Really. You can’t make this shit up.

I think I know, though, that Big Foot does not exist. All the time I’ve spent in the woods I have never seen one. And I have spent far too many nights sleeping in a flimsy tent in the big Northwest woods and never been approached by that hairy he-man once. (Could it be my breath?)

I don’t know for sure but I suspect (or think I know but I’m trying not to be redundant) that Big Foot is a figment of mushroom eating Northwest hippy hikers and Mad Dog 20/20 alcoholic logger hallucinations.

I could be wrong. If I am, I’ll let you know. Or better yet, I’ll let the Star know, and you can read about me as you wait in line someday at Walmart.

*I don’t know what I did with my glasses, most of the time when they are not on my face, and sometimes, even when they are. But sometimes I think I know where they are.

I think I know that I put them by the bathroom sink when I washed my face. Until I walk back into the bathroom and know that I did not.

I think I know that I put them on the bedside table when I got in bed, until it’s dark and I’m feeling around for them so I can see when I go into the bathroom. When I’m done feeling around, and have wiped up the toppled water glass, I know that I did not. I just thought I knew I did.

I think I know that I put them on the computer desk when I closed the laptop last, until I walk over to it, (in the dark so I don’t wake up the old man), on my way to the bathroom. Then I realize that I’ll never know that I put them there without feeling around again and knocking shit over and swearing and waking him up, swearing, so I never really know until morning whether I knew that I put them there or I just thought that I knew that I put them there.

Are you having a hard time following this? Yeah, me too.

The problem is I never know where I put them (my glasses, try to keep up), until I find them. Then I know that, Oh! I put them on the kitchen island. Thank God I know where I put them. I might have chopped off a finger.

Right now I think I know that my glasses are on my face because:

I know that I can read this screen.

I know that I can see the keyboard.

I know that those two things are impossible without my glasses.

Sometimes I think I might be going blind, but I don’t know for sure because sometimes, like now, I can see almost perfectly, and other times, I see only blurs. It all depends on where I put those damn glasses. I have to go now so I can stop typing and feel for my glasses on my face. I’m pretty sure they are there, but hey, I never really know. I just think I might know.

©2017 by Ilona Elliott

The Author (on the right)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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