Rainy Day Procrastinations: Vampires, Aliens, and Undone Checklists
After yesterday’s lazy day and early night, I woke at 4 a.m.—not jolted, not restless, but gently, as though the morning had been waiting patiently for me. Before my eyes even opened, I heard the pitter-patter of rain tapping the trailer roof, pinecones thudding as the wind knocked them from the trees, and thunder rolling in like waves crashing against a faraway shore. It was soothing—the kind of soundtrack that fills your insides with peace—made even sweeter by knowing I didn’t have to work today.
My eyes opened as last night’s revelations replayed in my mind. A flicker of embarrassment crept in—I’d shared something so personal, so raw—but it was quickly followed by relief. As though by setting it free, I’d carved out a little more wisdom inside my own chaos, and tried to be honest with myself and whoever happens to stumble across my ramblings.
Then came the tumble. Thoughts and randomness burst like tiny fireworks across my mind, one after another, until the sparks blurred into heaviness. It hit me: I’d forgotten my anxiety meds yesterday. Remedy first, espresso second.
The machine whirred awake, purring like a tiny enchanted beast, its song breaking the hush of dawn while the dogs burrowed deeper in their beds, casting me the kind of side-eye reserved for villains who dare disturb royal slumber. I watched the milk spin itself into a silky storm, thickening and rising as though clouds were gathering just for me—airy, light, and dreamy, almost alchemy in motion. I poured it into the dark espresso, where it blossomed into a soft crown of foam, and breathed it in as though it were a spell. Pure, frothy enchantment in a mug.
But my brain was already sprinting off again. I’d recently hired two different graphic designers to help with visuals for my blog page, and after sending them AI-made mockups of my vibe, both came back… underwhelming. Not bad, just not it. One looked pixelated, like video game cut-outs. The other was technically solid but without the warmth and whimsical twist I was looking for. So, I did what any stubborn human with a Wi-Fi connection would do: I took my original images, shoved them back into AI, and fiddled for hours. The results were fun—some I even loved—but they still weren’t the one.
Here’s the truth: I don’t draw, I don’t illustrate, and I don’t create like that—I need an expert. I can see what I want in my head, but when it comes out of me, it looks like a toddler armed with crayons had a sugar rush. Which is why I reached out to a friend whose art is pure storytelling. Her work is soft, cartoon-style magic, full of emotion, and not long ago she made forest scenes that looked like they could breathe. She’s exactly what I need. She’s also shy about this kind of thing, and I don’t know if she’ll say yes, but I feel in my bones she could make my story come alive.
I shook myself out of the spiral, fought the urge to rot in my chair, and forced the dogs outside. Predictably, they each picked a spot—no overthinking required—and immediately demanded to come back in. Bougie love muffins, both of them.
Back inside, I cycled through chores: laundry, dishes, breakfast, a little writing. By the time I sat back down, coffee refilled, I felt surprisingly accomplished.
It’s funny—living in an RV means constantly picking up and cleaning. The space is small, so just one or two rogue items can make it look like a garage sale gone wrong. But that same smallness works in my favor too—tidying up takes almost no time, and in a jiff the place feels spotless again. For someone who loves instant gratification, it does wonders for my brain. I used to get so anxious—paralyzed, really—by a whole house and backyard that constantly needed cleaning. Now? I can have a sparkling home in thirty minutes flat. Sick? Tired? Lazy? No problem. Boom—RV magic.
I’d come into the weekend with big ambitions, but the weather had other ideas. Living in an RV, I should probably check the forecast before making grand plans and for safety—I mentally added set up Google weather to my ever-growing list of “things I need to do.” That thought unraveled into another: I still need to reset the router to factory settings, and rainy days are perfect for conquering procrastination projects.
If I was feeling really spicy, I could even trim the bed with the jigsaw I bought yesterday. Of course, I forgot the baseboard I meant to use as a straight edge. Why am I like this, I muttered. Maybe it’s time I start making checklists—old, forgetful me, or as my gaming family likes to say: derp der derp.
Rain pattered against the windows, music played softly, and I let myself sink into the day I hadn’t planned for.
Some early talk this morning in Discord with the gaming family—and a YouTube video or two—about a potential comet or other unidentified object hurtling our way, enthusiastically dissected by scientists, started spiraling in my mind. It urged me to procrastinate and binge alien movies all day. I negotiated with myself: partial procrastination only. So I dove into the tail end of the Twilight saga (don’t judge me, sparkly vampires are a vibe), waiting for the weather to clear.
The weather did not clear. My royal dogs’ refusal to step outside and handle their business had me on edge. I was bored, they were bored. The three of us huffed, puffed, and sighed on and off like a quartet of melodramatic boredom. We’d been locked in the trailer for days while the universe cried all around us. We napped a little, snuggled a little, doom-scrolled TikTok a little. We thought about all the productive indoor projects we could do today—and then politely decided, nah, let’s just procrastinate some more.
By evening, I declared it Alien Movie Marathon Night. I realized I hadn’t even seen some of the Alien sequels—turns out ten years of being married to someone who hated horror really cut down my creepy-creature intake. So I began the journey: aliens, predators, and nightmare fuel galore. I’ve loved aliens since I was a kid in California listening to War of the Worlds on the radio. The idea of extraterrestrials has always fascinated me—still does.
Don’t worry—I’m not a conspiracy theorist—but I think it’s fun to hear all the wild possibilities, the “what ifs,” and the outrageous imagination people bring to the alien table. A little creative fantasy never hurt anyone.
And there it was again: a messy little storm inside my mind, anchored by rain outside, softened by espresso foam, and held together by the knowledge that even when the big plans implode, the small things—the art, the chores, the bougie dog drama, and even a little alien and vampire escapism—still make it whole.
Lessons of the Day
Rain on the roof is basically nature’s ASMR.
Forget the meds, and suddenly my thoughts are caffeinated squirrels with glow sticks.
While I summon magic in a mug, my dogs summon judgment from their beds.
Milk frothing is basically alchemy—clouds, magic, and happiness in a mug.
Great art whispers a story; bad art just screams “stock photo.”
Mess multiplies fast in small spaces, but so does the joy of a 10-minute reset.
Sparkly vampires are still valid entertainment choices—don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Rain + dogs = a Broadway-level performance of Trapped Indoors: The Musical.
Alien marathons are both research and escapism—multitasking at its finest.
Checklists might just be spells against chaos… or at least against derp-der-derp brain.