Procrastination Problems: From Dead Batteries to Judgy Sisters
Last night’s slumber was deep and blissful. Once my brain finally flipped its switch to “off,” I was out cold like a princess under a spell. Morning came with a sigh, and as I tried to roll over to stretch like a starfish, I quickly remembered—oh right—I wasn’t in a bed, I was in my trusty recliner. The poor chair groaned in protest, reminding me that sprawling is a luxury reserved for mattresses.
Naturally, the sound was all my dogs needed. Their little heads popped up like popcorn kernels in hot oil, and within seconds they were tumbling toward me in a furry stampede. Each one shoved the other aside in a very un-royal manner, vying for the prestigious title of First to Kiss Mommy. My morning dignity didn’t stand a chance, drowned in wiggling bodies, wet noses, and sloppy kisses.
I did my good mommy duties—ushering each of my joy muffins outside for their royal potty procession, then filling their bowls without delay. Once they were satisfied, I set about my own grand adulting: brewed coffee (nectar of the gods), dropped their food into the Instant Pot like a culinary magician, tackled the dishes, vacuumed, and gave the RV a quick straighten. My Canadian friend, (forever my RV guardian angel) kept me company on Discord, cheering me on while I pretended to be a functional adult. My body still ached, but in a gentler way, like it had finally decided to give me a little grace.
Then came the grand quest: groceries. I’d placed a curbside order the night before and nearly gasped when I saw how few options this small-town store had. Grass-fed, organic milk? Vanished. Exotic organic bougie staples? Nowhere to be found. Arriving to pick up my order, I noticed only four lonely curbside spots—four!—and I was the only soul there. In the city, curbside feels like a racetrack, buzzing with carts, cars, and hurried workers zig-zagging like bees in a hive. Here, it was peaceful. Unhurried. I took in the morning as I waited patiently for my order and noticed how fresh the morning felt even in the humidity of the early morning.
I’ll admit, I felt a tiny flicker of guilt for not venturing inside to push a squeaky cart myself. But then I remembered—adulting is also about delegating. I delegated my shopping to someone else, because my time is precious and I’d much rather spend it on things that feed my soul. Bougie? Absolutely. And I regret nothing, don’t judge me!
Once I got home, I began the noble art of arranging groceries in the refrigerator—a game of RV Tetris that no one asked for but I’m apparently training for the championship. RV fridges were clearly not designed for full-time dwellers who shop like they’re feeding a small village and treat their dogs like crowned royalty. By the time I finished stacking, shuffling, and muttering “why am I like this?” under my breath, half the fridge was devoted entirely to dog food. Their royal highnesses dine better than I do, and I’m oddly okay with it.
With the fridge conquered, my next mission was the swamp cooler. Texas heat doesn’t just knock politely—it barges in, kicks off its boots, and makes itself at home. I needed to get that cooler humming so my sister and a friend could survive an afternoon hangout in the gazebo, playing games without melting into human puddles.
Except… it didn’t turn on. Not even a flicker of life. Little did I know, it didn’t run off a regular battery at all—it needed its special lithium batteries charged first. Of course, they weren’t pre-charged. And of course, I had procrastinated instead of setting it up yesterday when I picked it up from my parents’ house. Classic me, a constant intrusive thought “why am I like this” and I quickly brushed it aside.
As I stood there staring at the lifeless cooler, my Canadian friend’s voice echoed in my head: “Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?” Clearly, I had taken that motto to heart. I shook my head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Why am I even friends with him again?” I muttered, then chuckled to myself.
My sister and our friend arrived, ready for an afternoon hangout, and the gazebo was… well, let’s just say it was nowhere near ready. Thanks to my procrastination and the swamp cooler battery debacle, our outdoor lounge dream was postponed indefinitely. So instead, we crammed ourselves into the RV.
It was an interesting arrangement. RV interiors aren’t exactly designed for entertaining. My “living room” consists of one loyal recliner (aka my throne) and several dog beds scattered like royal cushions for my bougie muffins. Not exactly guest seating. The dogs, of course, thought this was a fabulous arrangement—more humans to adore them in close quarters, and adoring they received.
Our friend was kind enough not to mention the lack of space, but my sister? She just gave me that look. You know the one. The silent, accusing glance that said everything without a word. She didn’t have to speak—I already knew what she was thinking. Don’t judge me, I wanted to tell her. This isn’t exactly Better Homes & Gardens… it’s Brave Roads & Messy Days.
I know my sister is trying to understand what I’m doing, but honestly? I think a lot of people struggle to wrap their heads around my full 360 life-course change. Heck, sometimes I don’t even understand it myself.
Some people joke that when I got my female parts cut out and my hormones replaced with good ol’ pharmaceuticals, I lost my damn mind. And maybe from the outside, it looks that way. But the truth is, I had been feeling this way for a long time—the surgeries just ripped the bandaid off and reminded me that life is short. Too short to live in ways that make you unhappy, too short to stay small when your soul is craving something big.
So I decided my life needed shock therapy. Enter: my midlife plot twist. Not everyone gets it, and that’s okay. Because honestly, half the time I don’t get it either. But what I do know is that it’s mine—and messy or not, it feels more alive than anything I’ve done in years.
For the first time in a long time, I can taste the air again. I can feel excitement—and even fear. But it’s the good kind of fear, the kind that stretches you and nudges you to grow. It pushes me to do things I wouldn’t otherwise, to step outside my comfort zone, and most importantly, to just enjoy the moment I’m in. And that? That’s always been the hardest thing for me to do.
It was a nice visit, even if I wasn’t an exemplary hostess, I fell asleep as soon as they trekked back to their side of town. Once I woke up from my slumber, I insistently messaged my Canadian friend to wake up from his old-person nap and to hop onto World of Warcraft with me. We hung out for a bit—he taught me some history (because he’s old and knows more than me), we wandered into philosophy, detoured into aliens, and generally hopped topics like two ADD kids chasing squirrels.
And now I’m ending the night the best way possible—with fur-baby snuggles and finishing this blog for the day. I slept and rested quite a bit today which was absolutely needed. Tomorrow will be a good day. I’ll even tackle a few of the things I’ve been procrastinating on—like my water leak. (We won’t talk about that multi-day procrastination, but just know I am being a good human by turning the water on and off as needed so I’m not wasting the earth’s most valuable resource.)
Messy or not, today was a win. And tomorrow? Tomorrow will be even better.
Lessons of the Day
Recliners may creak, but they still count as thrones.
Whoever said “love is patient” clearly never met dogs waiting for breakfast.
Coffee is liquid courage disguised as breakfast.
Small towns move slower… and sometimes that’s exactly what the soul needs.
If half the fridge is for the dogs, you’re probably doing pet parenthood right.
Procrastination has consequences… usually involving uncharged batteries.
Sisters don’t need words to judge you—their eyebrows do the heavy lifting.
A midlife plot twist might confuse everyone (including yourself), but it can still be magic.
Fear can be a friend if it nudges you toward growth instead of hiding.
Old friends + video games + late-night alien talks = the best ending to any messy day.
