Practical Guide to Being an Adult (and Failing at It)

I

They told me, “Adulthood is serious business,
You’ll gain respect, composure, control.”
Today I found my keys in the refrigerator
And debated responsibility with my soul.
I pay my bills like taming wild creatures,
I make lists I will never complete;
My planner looks noble and structured—
Until the couch declares my defeat.

II

Waking up early was part of the plan,
Productivity mode turned on;
But the “five more minutes” button
Is a villain I rely upon.
It negotiates dreams with my conscience,
Signs extensions with my will;
By the time one eye finally opens,
Coffee is my only thrill.

III

I promised a diet each sacred Monday,
And exercise at break of dawn;
But pizza stares at me so tenderly
My discipline is instantly gone.
“Just one slice,” I say with dignity,
In a tone mature and wise;
Next thing I’m hugging the refrigerator
Like it holds my moral prize.

IV

I work hard in front of my screen,
Focused, intense, professional face;
While in another secret tab
A ridiculous video wins the race.
I write emails crisp and polished,
Signed with firmness and poise;
Meanwhile my mind drifts somewhere
Where naps are considered joys.

V

I swore I’d learn something refined—
Languages, finance, chess;
Downloaded an app full of hope
And forgot it by day three, I confess.
The wise owl living in my head
Speaks of goals to pursue;
But the cat upon my sofa
Teaches procrastination too.

VI

Being adult means composure,
No loud laughter in the room;
But one joke cracks the structure
And my dignity meets its doom.
I try to return to serious matters
With a solemn, thoughtful tone;
But I’ve already become a meme
In the office group chat zone.

VII

I planned to save and invest,
To grow with financial grace;
But one unexplained discount
Throws wisdom out of place.
“It’s an investment in happiness,”
I whisper as I swipe;
The credit card smiles maliciously
While the bank records the hype.

VIII

The doctor advised, “Get more rest,”
My body applauded the decree;
But insomnia seized control
With midnight philosophy.
At 3 a.m. I solve the cosmos,
At 8 I barely survive;
Face exhausted yet pretending
I’m alert and fully alive.

IX

I meant to post inspiration online,
Deep reflections, thoughtful art;
Instead I watched viral kittens
With PhDs in comedic parts.
I vowed digital discipline,
But the algorithm knows me well;
It feeds me everything trivial
And my focus goes to hell.

X

In meetings I speak with authority,
Nod like a seasoned guide;
Though inwardly I’m wondering
If I left the stove on inside.
I talk of vision and strategy
Like a mentor with a plan;
While fighting the quiet suspicion
I’ve forgotten something again.

XI

I claimed I’d be organized,
Everything labeled and neat;
But my room looks bravely conquered
By laundry in strategic defeat.
“It’s creative chaos,” I argue
With artistic, noble flair;
The truth is I try to clean—
But motivation isn’t there.

XII

And so unfolds my glorious adulthood,
Between brilliance and harmless collapse;
A strategist in elegant theory,
World champion of minor mishaps.
But if failing is part of being human
And laughter our way to persist,
Then perhaps my daily confusion
Is a triumph I mustn’t resist.

Lost my keys again
Coffee saves my dignity
Adulting is hard