Day 114: The Great Jab Day Migration & The Butt of Doom

Nov 7
3 min read

Well, my darlings… it’s official.

Thursday Jab Day has been retired.

Gone.

Over.

Finished.

He served me faithfully for 16 dramatic, bloated, and occasionally constipated weeks - but the time has come for change.

Yes, I, JABatha Christie, have switched allegiance.

The new era has dawned.

Welcome to Friday Jab Day - same needle, new vibe.

Thursday evenings were becoming… too much.

The pressure.

The anticipation.

Jabbing too late.

The emotional rollercoaster of weigh-ins, self-reflection, and side-effect speculation.

I needed a fresh start.

A little breathing room.

A 24-hour grace period to process my weekly trauma before stabbing myself again.

So after much deliberation (and consulting my inner Mounjaro spirit guide, who suspiciously sounds like a sarcastic cat), I decided to push the jab forward by one glorious day.

Now, instead of Thursday chaos, I can enjoy:

Thursday: Weigh-in, reflection, mild panic, celebration, or tears.

Friday: Calm, composed jab day - with the confidence of a woman who’s already processed her emotions and is now ready to conquer nausea with grace and electrolytes.

The transition went smoothly - no drama, no rebellion from my body, no time-space anomalies.

Just a simple 8-day gap between doses, perfectly Mounjaro-approved.

And you know what?

Friday feels right.

Friday is for fresh starts, weekend energy, and the kind of optimism that makes you believe you’ll meal-prep salad jars and not just order Deliveroo by 8pm.

Now onto the actual Friday shenanigans...

Ahhh… the bliss of a working-from-home lie-in.

No commute, no makeup, no pretending to like Janet from Accounts.

Until I woke up to a soft purr - and Ruby’s furry butt planted squarely on my face. Honestly, she’s less “domestic pet” and more “Cats of Anarchy: The Tail Rises.” I swear, if she revs up any louder, I’ll need to wear a helmet to bed.

Still, I soldiered on.

Logged in to work with a divine coffee infused with collagen - because we may be tired, bloated, and emotionally unstable, but our skin will bounce.

Breakfast was a sophisticated slice of sourdough with ham, eaten as if I were in a chic Parisian café rather than a semi-chaotic kitchen that smells faintly of cat treats and despair.

Then came the retching.

A gentle morning reminder that 10mg Mounjaro fear is real and that my gag reflex has apparently developed a vendetta against needles.

But I did it.

I jabbed.

The full 10mg.

Right before lunch.

Did my hand tremble?

Absolutely.

Did I whisper, “Sweet Jesus, take the pancreas”? Possibly.

Lunch was a virtuous veggie soup (because nothing says bravery like soup). Then back to work - although “work” might be generous.

Concentration: zero.

Procrastination: expert level.

Yet somehow, all deadlines were met, tasks crossed off, and productivity goddess status: unlocked.

Meanwhile, the other half was hard at work (show-off).

I missed him.

A lot.

The house felt too quiet, except for Ruby and Molly plotting their next act of chaos.

Heating on.

Cats in hiding.

Me heroically resisting the urge to order pizza because 10mg JABatha does not do greasy carbs.

Temptation was real - the oven practically whispered, “Cheesy crust, darling. You’ve earned it.”

Instead, I opted for the wholesome combo of TV and boyfriend and cat cuddles on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket of delusion that this dose won’t turn me into a queasy Victorian heroine by morning.

Side effects, I await thee - queasy tummy, metallic taste, maybe even a spontaneous nap mid-sentence.

Bring it on.

And tomorrow?

Another glorious lie-in.

Saturdays are sacred.

I may even venture to the seaside if my digestive system allows it.

Picture it: me, windswept, holding a Diet Coke like a trophy, whispering to the seagulls, “I survived 10 milligrams.”

So to all my fellow jabbed comrades still clinging to Thursdays… I say this:

Liberate yourselves.

Change the day.

Be bold.

Be brave.

Be the scheduling chaos you want to see in the world.

Because whether it’s Thursday, Friday, or the day after you finally wash your hair - the jab will jab.

The weight will shift (eventually).

And JABatha will rise, collagen coffee in one hand, pen in the other, muttering, “May the side effects be ever in your favour.”

Long live Friday Jab Day - may she bring lighter scales, fewer burps, and more fabulous energy.

Well, my darlings… it’s official.

Thursday Jab Day has been retired.

Gone.

Over.

Finished.

He served me faithfully for 16 dramatic, bloated, and occasionally constipated weeks - but the time has come for change.

Yes, I, JABatha Christie, have switched allegiance.

The new era has dawned.

Welcome to Friday Jab Day - same needle, new vibe.

Thursday evenings were becoming… too much.

The pressure.

The anticipation.

Jabbing too late.

The emotional rollercoaster of weigh-ins, self-reflection, and side-effect speculation.

I needed a fresh start.

A little breathing room.

A 24-hour grace period to process my weekly trauma before stabbing myself again.

So after much deliberation (and consulting my inner Mounjaro spirit guide, who suspiciously sounds like a sarcastic cat), I decided to push the jab forward by one glorious day.

Now, instead of Thursday chaos, I can enjoy:

Thursday: Weigh-in, reflection, mild panic, celebration, or tears.

Friday: Calm, composed jab day - with the confidence of a woman who’s already processed her emotions and is now ready to conquer nausea with grace and electrolytes.

The transition went smoothly - no drama, no rebellion from my body, no time-space anomalies.

Just a simple 8-day gap between doses, perfectly Mounjaro-approved.

And you know what?

Friday feels right.

Friday is for fresh starts, weekend energy, and the kind of optimism that makes you believe you’ll meal-prep salad jars and not just order Deliveroo by 8pm.

Now onto the actual Friday shenanigans...

Ahhh… the bliss of a working-from-home lie-in.

No commute, no makeup, no pretending to like Janet from Accounts.

Until I woke up to a soft purr - and Ruby’s furry butt planted squarely on my face. Honestly, she’s less “domestic pet” and more “Cats of Anarchy: The Tail Rises.” I swear, if she revs up any louder, I’ll need to wear a helmet to bed.

Still, I soldiered on.

Logged in to work with a divine coffee infused with collagen - because we may be tired, bloated, and emotionally unstable, but our skin will bounce.

Breakfast was a sophisticated slice of sourdough with ham, eaten as if I were in a chic Parisian café rather than a semi-chaotic kitchen that smells faintly of cat treats and despair.

Then came the retching.

A gentle morning reminder that 10mg Mounjaro fear is real and that my gag reflex has apparently developed a vendetta against needles.

But I did it.

I jabbed.

The full 10mg.

Right before lunch.

Did my hand tremble?

Absolutely.

Did I whisper, “Sweet Jesus, take the pancreas”? Possibly.

Lunch was a virtuous veggie soup (because nothing says bravery like soup). Then back to work - although “work” might be generous.

Concentration: zero.

Procrastination: expert level.

Yet somehow, all deadlines were met, tasks crossed off, and productivity goddess status: unlocked.

Meanwhile, the other half was hard at work (show-off).

I missed him.

A lot.

The house felt too quiet, except for Ruby and Molly plotting their next act of chaos.

Heating on.

Cats in hiding.

Me heroically resisting the urge to order pizza because 10mg JABatha does not do greasy carbs.

Temptation was real - the oven practically whispered, “Cheesy crust, darling. You’ve earned it.”

Instead, I opted for the wholesome combo of TV and boyfriend and cat cuddles on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket of delusion that this dose won’t turn me into a queasy Victorian heroine by morning.

Side effects, I await thee - queasy tummy, metallic taste, maybe even a spontaneous nap mid-sentence.

Bring it on.

And tomorrow?

Another glorious lie-in.

Saturdays are sacred.

I may even venture to the seaside if my digestive system allows it.

Picture it: me, windswept, holding a Diet Coke like a trophy, whispering to the seagulls, “I survived 10 milligrams.”

So to all my fellow jabbed comrades still clinging to Thursdays… I say this:

Liberate yourselves.

Change the day.

Be bold.

Be brave.

Be the scheduling chaos you want to see in the world.

Because whether it’s Thursday, Friday, or the day after you finally wash your hair - the jab will jab.

The weight will shift (eventually).

And JABatha will rise, collagen coffee in one hand, pen in the other, muttering, “May the side effects be ever in your favour.”

Long live Friday Jab Day - may she bring lighter scales, fewer burps, and more fabulous energy.

Collagen coffee in one hand.

Cat butt in the other.

Muttering to herself:

“May the side effects be ever in your favour.”

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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