Day 5: The Silence of the Bowel

Slept like a log. Woke up like a zombie. Tired, bloated, and emotionally tethered to my handbag of shame: Dulcosoft, ginger chews, Gaviscon - basically a pharmacy in a clutch.

Honestly? Should have added nappies and called it a survival kit.

The train ride? High-stakes. Sat there like a guilty criminal, convinced every passenger could hear my stomach...but the joke's on me - I had my AirPods in.

Office vibes: tragic.

Bathroom proximity: elite

Constipation status: legendary.

Protein bowl rejected three times like an ex trying to win me back.

Lunch? More like Lunchwatch. I stared at my sad lil' chicken wrap like it had personally betrayed me. Meanwhile, the rest of the office munched away like joyous woodland creatures. Nearly Irish-exited the whole building.

Journey home? One word: bloated. I looked six months pregnant with a salt water balloon.

Dinner was a joyless, forced reunion with my yellow soup. I spooned it in like a martyr.

No spark. No romance. Just two tired souls getting through the night.

That's Day 5. Still no movement.

Come on bowel. Do something dramatic.

Blow me away. Literally.

With Love & Trapped Gas,

JABatha Christie