Day 11: The Curious Case of the Cardboard Toast & the DJ Boyfriend

Last night, my favourite human - the cricket master himself - waltzed in late like a victorious gladiator. Apparently, he had “won” something important, which absolutely had to be celebrated with beer, noise, and testosterone. Bless.

Meanwhile, I was ready for bed as I was knackered from writing this very blog for you delightful internet goblins. That’s dedication. That’s art. That’s… early onset granny-core.

Slept like an angel. Not one weird dream, not even a cameo from my subconscious trying to gaslight me with anxiety. Just me and one cat - went to sleep with a cat on me, woke up with a cat on me. I am furniture now. The cats have decided.

Sundays are for lie-ins, and by that I mean I stayed in bed until the wild hour of 6:30am. Someone hold me back.

First hit of dopamine: coffee. My unofficial ADHD medication. Some folks say coffee on Mounjaro and an empty stomach is a one-way ticket to Regret Town, but apart from Day 2’s “what-is-life” moment, I’m vibing.

 Amy Bradley Is Missing on Netflix. Creepy cruise ship, shady timelines, suspicious lack of sunscreen. 10/10 for suspense, 0/10 for closure. I refused to Google the ending. JABatha needed mystery. And it was...Still is.

BREAKING NEWS: I fancied food. Like, actual hunger. I had a hard-boiled egg on toast. The egg was fine. The toast, once again, tasted like regret and cardboard had a baby. But still - progress! Waiting for the sides effects, ginger is on standby!

Took myself off for a luxurious hot bubble bath with music, like a sexy sea witch reclaiming her powers. Turned the bathroom into a spa. Would’ve charged my boyfriend £40 to enter if I hadn’t fancied him so much.

Speaking of the DJ-in-residence, he’s officially begun DJ training me. Little mixing sesh today. He says I’m “coming along nicely,” which I choose to hear as I’m one USB away from taking over Ibiza. Stay tuned, because a JABatha mix might be coming soon, and it will have VIBES and maybe a detective monologue intro. Just saying.

Left the protein bowl for lunch again. You’re probably bored of hearing about it. Too bad. It slaps. Every time. Like a nutritious hug from someone who also meal preps and loves you.

Went for a walk with my beloved through our adorable village, hand in hand like we were in a Hallmark film, but with more sarcasm and fewer matching sweaters. Gorgeous views. Zero appetite. Mounjaro suppression still in full effect, but I’m learning to just… exist in the quiet (said no one with ADHD ever).

Dinner? A glorious, grass-fed steak (well, a quarter of it), with a cheeky trio of vegetables. Yes, three. Not more. That’s where my stomach drew the line. But delicious.

Now listen - I wanted to weigh myself today. Badly. Like full FBI surveillance-level obsession. But did I?

NO.

Because Discipline is my middle name. (It’s not. It’s literally nowhere near me.)

Next weigh-in is Thursday. I’m counting hours. Minutes. Seconds. I might knit myself a “DON’T STEP ON THE SCALES” sock just to stay focused.

Tomorrow, it’s back to the office. Alarm is set for 5AM. Which is technically illegal, but whatever.

To all my Mounjaro warriors - 

You’ve got this. I’ve got this. We’re hot, slightly nauseous, and powered by protein bowls.

And now… a totally unexpected Plot Twist: Mounjaro vs. ADHD.

So listen - no one told me that Mounjaro was about to roll up its sleeves and throw hands with my ADHD like a surprise guest star in my mental sitcom.

I’m not saying I’m cured.

But I am saying that I just organised a drawer.

A whole drawer.

Without crying. Or getting distracted and ending up scrolling through cheese boards on Pinterest for 45 minutes.

I used to walk into rooms and forget why I was there. Now? I walk in with purpose. (And still forget why I’m there - but, like, with confidence.)

My brain used to be like a browser with 87 tabs open, 4 frozen, and one randomly playing music. Now? It’s down to 6 tabs and they’re actually relevant. I even found the one with the music. Victory.

Could be coincidence.

Could be sorcery.

Could be Mounjaro whispering to my neurons like,

“Shhh, babe. Let’s just finish this one task before we alphabetise the spices, rewatch Bridgerton and Google whether sloths can swim.”

Either way, I’ll take it.

One less squirrel in the brain circus.

Thanks, Mounjaro. Didn’t expect the mental clarity, but I’m here for it.

Anyone else with ADHD finds that it helps them??

With Love,

JABatha Christie