Day 72: Frozen, Feline & Fabulous (ish)

Ah, Friday.

The crown jewel of the working week.

The day that says: “Hang on love, you’ve survived emails, meetings, Teams calls that could’ve been emails, and bacon rolls disguised as cardboard.

You deserve joy.”

Well.

Joy in theory.

Reality?

A little different.

Because my jab last night put me into what I can only describe as hibernation mode.

I jabbed at 7pm, was unconscious before 9pm, and I swear I only woke because Ruby launched into a full-on cat chat at 1 a.m.

I blinked awake, completely convinced it was morning.

Checked the clock.

ONE.

AM.

Fabulous.

So naturally, I lay there with that weird uneasy sleep vibe, half convinced a full moon was brewing.

And you know what?

It probably was. Because not only were the cats acting feral, but my boyfriend was tossing, turning, and grumbling too.

When I tell you that the moon affects this house… listen.

I am a witch.

I can sense these things.

Fast forward to morning proper.

I finally peeled myself off the mattress, dragging my jab-drained body to the kitchen.

First priority: coffee with collagen.

Small victory.

Except - here’s the weird thing.

Pre-Mounjaro me would not only have killed for two coffees first thing, but would’ve also plotted your murder if you dared get between me and my mug.

Now?

Coffee feels… meh.

Almost a chore.

Like, who am I?

I wanted to cry into my collagen.

Character development has gone too far.

Breakfast was sourdough toast with ham.

Simple.

No jazzing it up today because frankly, the jab had flicked the “Not Hungry” switch on my appetite.

Once upon a time, I’d have been layering avocado, cheese, and maybe staging a photo shoot.

Today?

Just ham.

Beige energy.

Meanwhile, Ruby spent the ENTIRE day meep-meeping.

Honestly, she sounds like a half-bird, half-human hybrid.

Forget “cat”- she’s basically a Pokémon.

If she evolves, I’m screwed.

Molly contributed with her usual judgmental stare, guarding her downstairs kingdom like the final boss in a video game.

Oh! Speaking of cats - my cat tattoo has officially lost weight too.

Yep, the little feline on my arm has slimmed down thanks to fat loss.

Who knew tattoos were on the same weight-loss programme as me?

Soon my arm-cat will need a new wardrobe.

By 2 p.m.?

Still no cravings.

No food noise.

Just me, staring at my fridge like it was a piece of modern art.

Which brings me to… Mounjaro Freeze.

I am perpetually cold.

Frozen.

Two jumpers on, and still shaking like I’ve been abandoned on the set of Frozen 3: JABatha’s Revenge.

My nose feels like it’s been dunked in a freezer, and my fingers are so icy I could double as a cocktail garnish.

At this rate, I’ll either develop Reynaud’s disease or become the next Elsa.

Is this normal?

Or is winter actually coming early?

I don’t know - but I do know that my gas bill is quaking.

And to make things spicier: where is this wind coming from??

Not from my butt, thank you very much!

The UK is apparently about to be battered by yet another storm - rain, wind, the whole dramatic package.

It’s like Mother Nature and Mounjaro had a meeting and said, “Let’s really freeze her out today.”

Every time I opened a window, it felt like I was about to be swept into The Wizard of Oz.

And while we’re on the topic of bodily complaints: the burping.

Not delicate, ladylike burps.

No.

Think orchestral, dramatic, echo-worthy belches.

Thank you, gastroparesis.

My personal soundtrack.

Add to that: blurry eyes.

But okay, that one’s probably on me.

Three screens all day and glasses sitting neglected somewhere in the flat. Honestly - shut up, woman.

You did this to yourself.

I clocked off work at 4 and dove straight into a scalding hot bath.

Boiled myself like a potato until my core temperature rose enough to stop shivering.

Followed this with no fewer than 17 layers of clothing, because why risk it? Honestly, at this point I looked like Joey Tribbiani in Friends wearing all of Chandler’s clothes.

And then the big Friday night finale… tomato and basil soup.

Creamy, warm, and comforting.

Though, truthfully, everything tastes the same these days.

My taste buds are on strike.

But you know what?

It hit the spot.

Was I in the pub, sipping wine and dancing?

Nope.

I was tucked under the duvet in my living room, cuddled up with Mr. JABatha and the cats.

And honestly?

That’s my kind of Friday night now.

Pubs are overrated.

Happiness is sitting in your cocoon with your little family, even if you’re burping like a sailor, freezing like an icicle, and meep-meeped at by a half-bird-half-cat Pokémon.

So yes - Friday.

Day 72.

Hibernation, freezing, cat concerts, soup, cuddles, AND a storm brewing outside.

And you know what? Happiness is priceless.

Have a fabulous evening, my fellow jabbers.

And thank you for always tuning into my shenanigans.

With Love,

JABatha Christie