I tried to procrastinate menopause — because I’m just that good at procrastinating. My procrastination knows how to procrastinate! Unfortunately, my hormones showed up in full force, as they do for all of us female-folk, unpacked their drama, and invited memory loss to move in too.

My husband says I come up with brilliant ideas — and honestly, he’s right. I can think up creative solutions, clever shortcuts, and efficient ways to do just about anything. I’m also the queen of finding lost things for the family — keys, wallets, phones, pens, lost earrings, you name it, I’ll magically locate it. But try asking me where I put my own stuff? I haven’t a clue. The problem isn’t my brain; it’s remembering what my brain decided five minutes ago. I can think up a great plan, dash downstairs to put it into action, and by the time I get there, I’m just standing in the kitchen wondering why I came. (Why is it always the kitchen?)

And the number of times I’ve had to walk downstairs to fetch the cup of tea I made twenty minutes ago? Let’s just say the kettle and I are in a committed relationship at this point.

But I digress… back to procrastination.

Actual Procrastination

Of course, procrastination isn’t all cute chaos and lost instant messages. Sometimes it’s very real. Instead of getting into the car to run those errands I’ve been putting off for days — or, let’s be honest, weeks — I find myself staring out the window, letting my mind drift wherever it pleases.

My mother-dearest will tell anyone who’ll listen that I’ve daydreamed my life away — and she’s not wrong. Even back in school (many, many years ago), I got into trouble for zoning out and dreaming up imaginary worlds. I’ve always loved escaping into my imagination — building magical, whimsical places in my head, filled with fantastical creatures.

As an artist, I can see entire illustrations form before my eyes — landscapes, skies, and beings that could never exist in real life (well, that’s debatable — of course fairies are real). Imagine a world where no creature ever suffered and happiness was guaranteed — especially the furry kind.

Alright, alright, I know — how could we recognise happiness if we never knew sadness, or find comfort if we’d never been uncomfortable? See? There I go, digressing again. The point is: I would do anything to avoid running those errands that, for some mysterious reason, suddenly feel utterly terrifying.

Just this past weekend, I actually willed myself to sit down and get some work done. I’m heading to the coast soon for two glorious weeks — to visit the fairies, of course, who I hear are partial to sea breeze and sundowners — and I thought I’d be clever and work ahead, so I could truly switch off while away.

But the universe had other plans. The moment I sat down, my mind decided it was the perfect time to come up with ideas for another blog article. About procrastination, naturally. And just like that… I was off again. A full-circle moment: procrastinating by thinking about procrastination. Honestly, you couldn’t make this stuff up — except, well, apparently I do.

Procrastination and Memory — Partners in Hormonal Crime

You see, procrastination and memory loss are best friends. They enable each other. One says, “Let’s do that later,” and the other says, “What were we doing again?” It’s the perfect dysfunctional relationship.

Sometimes I wonder if my memory is truly failing or if it’s just refusing to participate in activities it doesn’t find interesting. Ask me where I left my glasses? No clue. Ask me to recall the lyrics to a 1980s power ballad I haven’t heard in twenty years? Suddenly, I’m Joan Jett, loving rock ‘n’ roll, belting it out in my mind like it’s opening night at the arena.

My brain seems to have adopted a selective retention policy — it remembers vividly that I once embarrassed myself in 1990, but can’t recall the password I reset three minutes ago.

These days, I don’t even make lists on paper. I WhatsApp myself. My chat with me is longer than some of my actual friendships. It’s full of reminders, brilliant ideas, shopping lists,  a "to do (but not now)" list and half-written thoughts that made perfect sense at 2 a.m. but now read like clues from an unsolved mystery.

And of course, sometimes I forget I sent them at all. Then I’ll open my chat weeks later, see a message from myself saying “Remember the thing!” and think, “Well, that’s not helpful.”

So procrastination thrives. It’s not that I don’t want to get things done — I do! But by the time I scroll through the messages, figure out what Past Me was trying to say, and remember why I was trying to say it… the moment has passed, the energy’s gone, and the kettle’s boiled itself dry again.

Animal Hijinks

Sometimes, my animals seem to sense when I’m procrastinating and decide to “help.” The cat will suddenly appear on the keyboard just as I’m drafting a message to my work group in Google Chat, turning my carefully typed notes into something that looks like ancient hieroglyphics — and sending them off for everyone to enjoy. The dogs, of course, interpret procrastination as an invitation to demand multiple treats — because clearly, my wandering around the kitchen aimlessly is a sign of severe neglect. And the birds will wait for the perfect dramatic moment to scream, just as I remember I was supposed to be doing something important.

Lost Idea Retrieval & Mini-Meltdowns

And don’t get me started on my genius ideas that vanish into the ether. I’ll think of something amazing — a shortcut, a life hack, a brilliant plan — and then… poof. Weeks later, I’ll stumble across it and wonder, “Did I come up with this, or did the universe just send me a riddle?” Honestly, half the fun is in the rediscovery.

There are moments of pure chaos, of course. Like the time(s) I started preparing dinner, got distracted by an “urgent” alarm set for something (only titled "don't forget"), and somehow ended up with a teabag in my wine and the chicken I was supposed to take out to cook for my dogs still in the freezer two hours later, and the scramble to defrost it in a Ziplock bag in warm water (now a regular thing). These are the stories I tell later with laughter — because if I didn’t laugh, I’d cry.

Lessons From the Procrastination Station

Somewhere between the forgotten kettles, the WhatsApp lists, and the vanished thoughts, I’ve realised that maybe procrastination isn’t always the villain it’s made out to be. Sometimes it’s just life’s way of saying, slow down.

The animals don’t rush. They don’t multitask. They don’t send themselves WhatsApp reminders. They just are.

And honestly, there’s something to be said for that. Maybe the kettle goes cold, the list gets lost, and the great ideas vanish into the ether — but life still carries on. The animals get fed, the sun sets, the tea eventually gets reheated, and somehow, it all works out.

Maybe procrastination, forgetfulness, and midlife muddle aren’t signs of failure. Maybe they’re reminders to stop trying to outrun time — because time, like menopause and memory loss, will show up whether you’re ready or not.

So these days, when I find myself halfway down the stairs wondering what I came for, I just give the dog a pat, boil the kettle AGAIN (thank goodness for solar power), and assume that whatever it was can wait. (It was probably to take something out of the freezer for dinner.) After all, I’ve got decades of procrastination experience — I might as well enjoy it.

The Last Laugh

So if you ever find yourself wandering around your house, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea, wondering what you came to do — you’re in good company. Maybe we’re not procrastinating; maybe we’re prioritising reflection (or at least pretending to). The animals certainly approve. They look at me with that serene, judgment-free gaze that says, “You’re doing fine. Just sit down and scratch my ears.”

And maybe that’s the secret: it’s not about getting everything done or remembering every brilliant idea. It’s about laughing when you forget, boiling the kettle again, and accepting that sometimes, the best plan of action is no action at all.

Besides — I can always write about it later. Assuming, of course, I remember.