Day 22: The Burp Awakens

Aug 7
2 min read

Last night’s entertainment was a full menu of cancelled men and architectural drama:

Masterchef - starring John “Dry Chicken” Torode and Gregg “No Palate” Wallace.

Honestly? Not one single bite of food on there made me tingle. Not a sniff. My taste buds stayed drier than my DMs.

Then came Grand Designs, and OH LORD - finally, a house that didn’t look like a concrete biscuit tin.

10/10, would remortgage my soul for it.

Meanwhile, Cat 1 aka Mischief, decided she’s now a podcast host.

Midnight commentary, 3-part meowmentary on “The Mysterious Movement of That Sock Under The Fridge”.

Honestly, it’s giving Radio 4 vibes but unhinged.

5am wake-up for the office.

Because why not suffer?

It was weigh-in day, and drumroll please…

Down 1.1lbs this week. That’s 11.2lbs total!

Not exactly flying off, but neither is my wig - so we move on.

And now for the digestive plot twist of the day:

Remember the constipation?

Yeah… well it packed its bags and ran in the opposite direction.

My stomach sounded like a haunted dishwasher and behaved like a budget airline with no flight path.

Turbulent.

Unpredictable.

Slightly moist.

I know I need to drink more water.

But who has time to hydrate when you’re burping like a goat and trying not to faint in the office loo?

Breakfast? Don’t ask. I already regret it.

Lunchtime was salmon sashimi because I felt fancy.

But the raw salmon/ WASABI/ ginger combo turned my stomach into a bubbling witch’s cauldron.

The burps?

Cinematic. Surround sound. Dolby Atmos.

Passengers on the Northern Line heard them and ducked for cover.

In non-bodily-function news:

JABatha hit 200 Instagram followers in 3 weeks!

WHO KNEW chronic constipation could be so relatable?

Thank you, my people!

Also cracked another mystery: the Mounjaro Golden Dose, thanks to my new Instagram friend.

It’s real. And apparently my current dose is just the warm-up act.

Bring on the Gold Rush, baby!

Nearly fell asleep on the tube on my way home, standing!

Then again on the train.

I was so tired I started hallucinating Gregg Wallace offering me ginger tea. I declined.

Got home. No dinner. Just vibes.

Jabbed myself with Dose No. 4 like the hormone-charged warrior queen I am.

Then curled up on the sofa with my lovely man and the cats, watching Masterchef again because clearly I’m a glutton for punishment (but not food).

Working from home tomorrow so no getting up at 5am, unless Cat 1 decides to reintroduce her butthole alarm clock™ at dawn.

Pray for me.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

Last night’s entertainment was a full menu of cancelled men and architectural drama:

Masterchef - starring John “Dry Chicken” Torode and Gregg “No Palate” Wallace.

Honestly? Not one single bite of food on there made me tingle. Not a sniff. My taste buds stayed drier than my DMs.

Then came Grand Designs, and OH LORD - finally, a house that didn’t look like a concrete biscuit tin.

10/10, would remortgage my soul for it.

Meanwhile, Cat 1 aka Mischief, decided she’s now a podcast host.

Midnight commentary, 3-part meowmentary on “The Mysterious Movement of That Sock Under The Fridge”.

Honestly, it’s giving Radio 4 vibes but unhinged.

5am wake-up for the office.

Because why not suffer?

It was weigh-in day, and drumroll please…

Down 1.1lbs this week. That’s 11.2lbs total!

Not exactly flying off, but neither is my wig - so we move on.

And now for the digestive plot twist of the day:

Remember the constipation?

Yeah… well it packed its bags and ran in the opposite direction.

My stomach sounded like a haunted dishwasher and behaved like a budget airline with no flight path.

Turbulent.

Unpredictable.

Slightly moist.

I know I need to drink more water.

But who has time to hydrate when you’re burping like a goat and trying not to faint in the office loo?

Breakfast? Don’t ask. I already regret it.

Lunchtime was salmon sashimi because I felt fancy.

But the raw salmon/ WASABI/ ginger combo turned my stomach into a bubbling witch’s cauldron.

The burps?

Cinematic. Surround sound. Dolby Atmos.

Passengers on the Northern Line heard them and ducked for cover.

In non-bodily-function news:

JABatha hit 200 Instagram followers in 3 weeks!

WHO KNEW chronic constipation could be so relatable?

Thank you, my people!

Also cracked another mystery: the Mounjaro Golden Dose, thanks to my new Instagram friend.

It’s real. And apparently my current dose is just the warm-up act.

Bring on the Gold Rush, baby!

Nearly fell asleep on the tube on my way home, standing!

Then again on the train.

I was so tired I started hallucinating Gregg Wallace offering me ginger tea. I declined.

Got home. No dinner. Just vibes.

Jabbed myself with Dose No. 4 like the hormone-charged warrior queen I am.

Then curled up on the sofa with my lovely man and the cats, watching Masterchef again because clearly I’m a glutton for punishment (but not food).

Working from home tomorrow so no getting up at 5am, unless Cat 1 decides to reintroduce her butthole alarm clock™ at dawn.

Pray for me.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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