Day 23: The Butt Chronicles, Episode 3 (I think)

I have no idea what was going on with Cat 1 last night, but whatever podcast she was recording between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. was next-level performance art.

She was delivering a full-length, unedited, surround-sound episode - complete with live audience participation - which involved planting her butt directly in my face not once, but twice.

And because no night is complete without a full-blown feline brawl, there was also a scrap - Cat 1 hissing like she’d just been told she was on decaf for life, and Cat 2 howling like a Victorian ghost trapped in the plumbing. Honestly, at this point I’m just waiting for Netflix to pick up the rights to my house.

By 5 a.m., I’d given up on sleep, dignity, and personal boundaries, and dragged myself out of bed to feed them.

Because apparently, the role of “Full-Time Live-In Staff” is one I perform for free, without holidays, and with the occasional faceful of furball fumes.

Coffee with collagen was next on the agenda - or should I say crime scene beverage.

I’ve gone off even that now. WTF?

Had my first sip, thought, meh, had my second sip, thought, why am I still here?, and then immediately felt nauseous.

Pretty sure it’s yesterday’s jab doing its thing, each dosage is turning me into a human science experiment.

I forced down a thin seeded bagel with ham for breakfast.

Texture: cardboard.

Taste: sadness.

Vibe: regret.

And within minutes - bam! - nausea again.

I can’t even look at food right now. My body is rejecting sustenance like I’ve joined some extreme fasting cult I didn’t sign up for.

Even water is a struggle. Water. The most basic life necessity. Had to resort to Dioralyte to keep my electrolytes from packing up and leaving.

Meanwhile, I’m absolutely knackered, shuffling around the house like a Victorian invalid awaiting my smelling salts.

Lunchtime?

Oh, a gourmet affair: BOL protein power soup, jazzed up with extra mushrooms and peas.

It looked promising, but tasted of precisely nothing. Not even disappointment. Just… the void.

And then, the grand finale: the headache.

Always the day after the jab.

Always.

Like clockwork.

Does this happen to anyone else, or am I just starring in the solo version of this particular reality show?

At least Ginger chews were supportive. They stayed curled up with me all day, watching me with those big, soulful eyes that say, I would never put my butt in your face, mother.

A queen.

Later, my and my better half (not jabbing). we did manage a long countryside walk.

And I have to say, we really do love where we live - so beautiful, so peaceful, so full of trees I want to hug but resist because I’m 90% sure that’s how you get ticks.

We are very grateful.

Tonight’s entertainment: another episode of Masterchef - just what you want when feeling queasy, watching people boil lobsters while describing the unctuous mouthfeel.

And then… The Fortune Hotel. What a fever dream. A bunch of absolute weirdos fighting over a suitcase full of money.

The hotel looked fabulous, though - if you ignored the screaming, the plotting, and the passive-aggressive poolside chats.

Day 23 verdict:

Survived.

Barely.

Send Dioralyte and noise-cancelling headphones.

With Love,

JABatha Christie