Day 124: Frostbite, Public Transport Rage, And A Stomach That Thinks It’s a Zoo Exhibit

Nov 18
4 min read

Ah… 5 am, that blessed/unholy hour when the universe reminds me I exist.

Did I wake gracefully, smiling, stretching like a sophisticated human being?

HAHAHAHAHAHA. NO.

Instead:

My phone screamed like a banshee hopped up on espresso.

Ruby, my feline overlord, ran her 4–5 am Cat Podcast, featuring:

“Mrrrrrp” Intro Theme

Keyboard tapping like an office admin on steroids

Head-butting me repeatedly (Subscriber Engagement Segment)

Emergency Alert: “Mum, I Think You’re Dead So I Must Sit On Your Face”

She is thoughtful, terrifying, and better organised than most CEOs.

MINI: ARCTIC VEHICLE OR ICE PRISON?

Dragged myself to Mini.

Inside, she was a frozen tundra.

Windows iced over like Elsa had it out for me personally.

Mini’s internal monologue:

“Ah, she dares wake me. I am ice. I am fury. I am Mini. Scrape if you wish, human. Your misery amuses me.”

I scraped, cursed, negotiated, prayed to the car gods.

Eventually, visibility achieved.

Mini looked smug.

I looked like a frostbitten yet determined penguin.

TRAIN OF ARCTIC HORRORS

Boarded the train.

Temperature: Antarctica meets inside a walk-in freezer.

AND I SWEAR TO GOD —

It was colder than my will to live.

And then anger hit.

Because I pay A LOT for this train ticket, like premium-level “can I sit my cheeks on a seat please???” money.

But oh no.

Because on UK trains, people LOVE to:

Sit on the aisle seat

Put their bag on the window seat

Pretend they can’t see you

Avoid eye contact like you’re a debt collector

Listen.

If your bag is sitting on the seat, I will PERSONALLY apply for its passport because clearly it is travelling as a PERSON.

MOVE. THE. BAG.

MOVE. THE. CHEEKS.

MOVE. THE. ATTITUDE.

Why are we like this as a nation???

COFFEE, COLLAGEN, BACON ROLL HEROICS

Walked to the office and grabbed coffee - not from Notes this time.

No no.

I cheated.

I went to Joe Blake’s.

It was glorious.

Smooth. Golden. Emotional.

Of course, the second I opened my collagen sachet and sprinkled suspicious white powder into my cup, EVERYONE suddenly found a reason to stare at me.

Their eyes were giving:

“Is she okay?”

“Is she putting illicit materials in her latte?”

“Should I alert HR?”

Then I bought a Pret bacon roll because I CAN and because weekend calories don’t count unless you say them out loud.

Side note:

On 10mg, I swear I eat MORE and lose MORE weight.

It’s like Mounjaro finally said:

“Alright babe. Fine. Let’s DO this.”

THE OFFICE… OR THE ARCTIC CIRCLE?

Entered the office and the temperature was giving:

Antarctica.

January on Pluto.

A morgue but without the heating.

My fingers were slowly turning Smurf-blue.

People sat at their desks wearing:

Full coats

Scarves

Emotional trauma

At one point I cracked and put on my fingerless gloves, like I was a Victorian child selling newspapers.

We waited for icicles to grow from the ceiling so we could start an office ice-sculpture competition.

I drank FOUR hot teas and still felt like an undercooked chicken.

THE LUNCH OF EXTREME CONSEQUENCES

Lunch: hot & spicy lemongrass chicken soup.

Delicious.

Steamy.

Comforting.

But then.

THE STOMACH.

Since Sunday, my stomach has been:

A whale calling its family

A motorbike from 1993

Someone unzipping a tent in the dark

A dragon clearing its throat

Two raccoons wrestling over a crisp packet

An elephant learning to play trumpet underwater

Every time the office fell silent…

MY STOMACH PERFORMED.

People looked around like:

“Is someone… summoning a demon?”

“Is that the pipes?”

“Should we evacuate?”

No babes.

It’s just my digestive system doing Jazz Night.

10MG PEN DECISION & 12.5 MG DEBATE

Fewer side effects than 7.5 mg.

Stomach still feral, chaotic, but iconic.

After careful, highly scientific consideration (read: panicking slightly while checking online forums and debating with cats), I pondered whether to go up to 12.5 mg.

Pros: maybe slightly more weight loss, possibly even more energy.

Cons: possibly turning into a vomiting, dizzy, hormone-powered tornado.

After much dramatic deliberation, including asking Mini for advice (ignored), consulting Ruby via piercing stare (ignored), and Molly with subtle tail flicks of judgment (ignored), I made the executive JABatha decision:

Ordered another 10 mg pen.

JABatha’s 12.5 mg Inner Debate

Me: “Could I handle 12.5? Surely I could. I am fabulous, feral, and resilient!”

Stomach: “Oh honey… no. We are already a zoo orchestra, do you want to add a marching band?”

Mini (from icy car): “12.5? She’d explode before breakfast.”

Ruby: “Do it, I want popcorn for the chaos.”

Molly: tail flick “Remember last Tuesday? Enough said.”

Conclusion after 17 minutes of pacing, dramatic sighs, and one near-spill of collagen in coffee: 10 mg pen it is.

Chaos remains controlled.

Stomach mildly compliant.

Self?

Still JABatha-level fabulous.

MINI ICE ADVENTURE

Left work after 4 pm.

Mini covered in ice, muttering icy threats:

“You think scraping me is fun? I am frost incarnate. You will slip. You will cry. But alas… I endure.”

Finally home: heating blazing, chaos awaited.

Boyfriend: loyal, tail-less, slightly terrified.

Cats: plotting, judging, brilliant.

If he had a tail, it would wag as much as Ruby and Molly combined.

Dinner?

Only a few salt & pepper nuts.

Am I human or a squirrel?

Question remains.

NETFLIX CHAOS: THE BEAST IN ME

Started watching “The Beast in Me” - Claire Danes grieving her kid, Matthew Rhys probably evil, Brittany Snow plotting, everyone screaming, and me shouting at the screen.

Essentially: murder, obsession, paranoia, my stomach trying to outdo the drama with percussion.

Perfect combo: heart racing, nerves shredded, stomach orchestrating jazz elephants, me yelling: “Nile, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!”

Cats’ reviews of my 10 mg behaviour during viewing:

Ruby: “Excessive yelling, mum. Tone it down. This is a thriller, not an opera.”

Molly: “Soup too spicy? Netflix screaming? Still acceptable, barely.”

CAT & MINI SIDE NOTES

Mini sarcastic commentary: “Ah yes, Monday again. How tragic for you. How delightful for me.”

Ah… 5 am, that blessed/unholy hour when the universe reminds me I exist.

Did I wake gracefully, smiling, stretching like a sophisticated human being?

HAHAHAHAHAHA. NO.

Instead:

My phone screamed like a banshee hopped up on espresso.

Ruby, my feline overlord, ran her 4–5 am Cat Podcast, featuring:

“Mrrrrrp” Intro Theme

Keyboard tapping like an office admin on steroids

Head-butting me repeatedly (Subscriber Engagement Segment)

Emergency Alert: “Mum, I Think You’re Dead So I Must Sit On Your Face”

She is thoughtful, terrifying, and better organised than most CEOs.

MINI: ARCTIC VEHICLE OR ICE PRISON?

Dragged myself to Mini.

Inside, she was a frozen tundra.

Windows iced over like Elsa had it out for me personally.

Mini’s internal monologue:

“Ah, she dares wake me. I am ice. I am fury. I am Mini. Scrape if you wish, human. Your misery amuses me.”

I scraped, cursed, negotiated, prayed to the car gods.

Eventually, visibility achieved.

Mini looked smug.

I looked like a frostbitten yet determined penguin.

TRAIN OF ARCTIC HORRORS

Boarded the train.

Temperature: Antarctica meets inside a walk-in freezer.

It was colder than my will to live.

And then anger hit.

Because I pay A LOT for this train ticket, like premium-level “can I sit my cheeks on a seat please???” money.

But oh no.

Because on UK trains, people LOVE to:

Sit on the aisle seat

Put their bag on the window seat

Pretend they can’t see you

Avoid eye contact like you’re a debt collector

Listen.

If your bag is sitting on the seat, I will PERSONALLY apply for its passport because clearly it is travelling as a PERSON.

MOVE. THE. BAG.

MOVE. THE. CHEEKS.

MOVE. THE. ATTITUDE.

Why are we like this as a nation???

COFFEE, COLLAGEN, BACON ROLL HEROICS

Walked to the office and grabbed coffee - not from Notes this time.

No no.

I cheated.

I went to Joe Blake’s.

It was glorious.

Smooth. Golden. Emotional.

Of course, the second I opened my collagen sachet and sprinkled suspicious white powder into my cup, EVERYONE suddenly found a reason to stare at me.

Their eyes were giving:

“Is she okay?”

“Is she putting illicit materials in her latte?”

“Should I alert HR?”

Then I bought a Pret bacon roll because I CAN and because weekend calories don’t count unless you say them out loud.

Side note:

On 10mg, I swear I eat MORE and lose MORE weight.

It’s like Mounjaro finally said:

“Alright babe. Fine. Let’s DO this.”

THE OFFICE… OR THE ARCTIC CIRCLE?

Entered the office and the temperature was giving:

Antarctica.

January on Pluto.

A morgue but without the heating.

My fingers were slowly turning Smurf-blue.

People sat at their desks wearing:

Full coats

Scarves

Emotional trauma

At one point I cracked and put on my fingerless gloves, like I was a Victorian child selling newspapers.

We waited for icicles to grow from the ceiling so we could start an office ice-sculpture competition.

I drank FOUR hot teas and still felt like an undercooked chicken.

THE LUNCH OF EXTREME CONSEQUENCES

Lunch: hot & spicy lemongrass chicken soup.

Delicious.

Steamy.

Comforting.

But then.

THE STOMACH.

Since Sunday, my stomach has been:

A whale calling its family

A motorbike from 1993

Someone unzipping a tent in the dark

Ah… 5 am, that blessed/unholy hour when the universe reminds me I exist.

Ruby, my feline overlord, ran her 4–5 am Cat Podcast, featuring:

10MG PEN DECISION & 12.5 MG DEBATE

Fewer side effects than 7.5 mg.

After careful, highly scientific consideration (read: panicking slightly while checking online forums and debating with cats), I pondered whether to go up to 12.5 mg.

Ordered another 10 mg pen.

JABatha’s 12.5 mg Inner Debate