Day 115 & 116: A JABatha Christie Production: Featuring Dose 10mg, Netflix, Coma-Level Fatigue & a Surprise Duvet Puke Plot Twist.

Nov 14
3 min read

Darling readers, gather round.

Let Auntie JABatha pour herself a rum and Coke (because wine is now as welcome to my body as a wasp at a picnic) and tell you the tale of The Laziest Weekend Known to Humanity™ - brought to you by Dose 10mg, the pharmaceutical equivalent of being unplugged from the mains.

Because WOW.

Saturday (Day 115):

I woke up… and immediately questioned my life choices. Specifically:

Why did I increase to 10mg?

Why does my arm feel like it’s been been used in a medieval jousting practice?

Why do I feel like I’ve done a triathlon when all I did was lie horizontally?

Now, in case anyone is new to the 10mg club - let me give you a quick sciencey JABatha-certified explanation:

Dose 10mg = The Gateway to The Fatigue Dimension

It can zap your appetite, flatten your energy levels, confuse your sleep cycle, and give you the delightful “I’m awake but I also might be in a coma?” sensation.

It’s like your body is simultaneously running Windows 95 and trying to download its own updates.

Highly glamorous.

Very chic.

Much wow.

Because I now jab on Fridays... naturally, I spent the entire Saturday in bed.

Not moving.

Honestly, the NHS should give out badges for this level of commitment.

I watched Netflix.

I slept.

I stared at the ceiling.

I contemplated life.

I slept again.

Productivity?

Absolutely not.

Did I go for a walk like a healthy, outdoorsy individual?

Body said NO.

Full stop.

I didn’t even fancy food - which is unheard of in my personal history.

At one point I thought: “Did I eat dinner?”

Maybe I had fish?

Or was that a dream sequence?

Truly, the records are unclear.

The historians will debate this for decades.

Sunday (Day 116):

A masterclass in copy/paste energy from Saturday, but with a dash of effort:

I got up at the crack of dawn (aka 6-something) because my Ocado delivery was arriving and I could not - physically could NOT - go to a shop.

The 10mg said:

“No sweetheart, we do NOT mingle with the public today.”

Breakfasts were at least somewhat glamorous:

Saturday: sourdough toast with ham

Sunday: sourdough with salmon

And of course coffee + collagen on both days, because that’s the only thing keeping me tethered to Earth.

Everything else?

Chaos.

Ruby decided to spice up the narrative by puking on a duvet, because why should JABatha have any peace?

Thank GOD I did all the washing on Friday.

The universe said: “Not so fast.”

Did we go for a walk Sunday?

My spirit said “maybe” but…

Mother Nature: “RAIN.”

Me: “Absolutely not.”

So more TV.

More cuddles.

More horizontal living.

Occasional rum + Coke because wine has betrayed me like a bad ex.

By the end of the weekend, I realised something important:

This 10mg dose has done a NUMBER on me.

I felt half dead.

Like… “should I call someone?” dead.

Like “spring onion left forgotten in the fridge drawer” dead.

Like “is this what a coma feels like?” dead.

But fear not - your beloved JABatha Christie survived the 48-hour exhaustion marathon and is here to tell the tale.

In summary:

Day 115–116 were sponsored by:

Dose 10mg (Chaos Edition)

Netflix (Are you still watching? No but thanks)

Zero appetite

Body aches

Bed immobility

Mystery dinner

Ocado at dawn

Duvet puke drama

Rainy-day excuses

Rum & Coke salvation

Tune in next time for Day 117 when I hopefully regain consciousness.

And now… a post-credits scene worthy of Marvel:

Because just when you think JABatha’s weekend saga couldn’t get any more ridiculous…

THE RAT RETURNS.

Yes, my friends, the Mission Rat Hunting saga continues because that furry little gremlin is absolutely NOT interested in whatever delicacies are in the humane trap box.

Peanut butter?

Nutella?

Luxury cheddar?

A Michelin-star tasting menu?

Does he care?

NOPE.

He looked at my offerings like a spoiled toddler refusing broccoli.

And honestly…

Do I blame him/her?

Probably not.

If someone tried to lure me into a plastic prison with a cracker and some peanut butter, I too would decline the invitation.

But let’s be clear:

I WANT IT GONE.

Gone from the garden.

Gone from the shadows.

Gone from its nightly scuttling tour like it owns the place.

I can practically hear it laughing at me:

“10mg took you DOWN this weekend and you think YOU can take ME down? Cute.”

But mark my words rat:

Operation Evict The Rat (Peacefully But FIRMLY) is ON.

This is not over.

The box is baited, the patience is thinning, and JABatha Christie - queen of investigations - will crack this case.