Day 75: Monday Madness, Cat Podcasts & Curry Gate

Oct 1
3 min read

Ahhh Mondays.

That cursed invention of the calendar where the universe collectively decides to remind you that the weekend is over and that you must rise before the birds, the worms, and apparently before your will to live.

Honestly, who decided Monday should come right after Sunday?

Surely we deserve a Buffer Day in between.

A Sunday 2.0.

A day dedicated purely to existing in stretchy pants and reheating yesterday’s roast potatoes. Someone call the UN.

But no.

Instead, there I was, dragged from slumber at 5am by the alarm clock - except joke’s on me, because my cats had already decided to launch into their “Cat Podcast: Season 9, Episode 475 – Live from Your Face” at 4:36am sharp.

A mixture of purring into my eardrum ASMR, followed by the familiar sound of a butt landing directly on my cheek.

Honestly, if Spotify could bottle this content, they’d cancel Joe Rogan and sign up Whiskers & Fluff ASAP.

Stumbled into the shower, stumbled out, applied mascara with all the precision of a Picasso painting, jumped in the car and drove myself to the station.

Grabbed a Notes coffee on the way to work and had my Instagram-worthy protein bowl at my desk (if it’s not on IG, does the protein even count?).

But the retching?

Back with a vengeance.

Gastroparesis had chilled for months, but the jab said:

“Surprise, babe, I’m back.”

Honestly… is it worth it?

Now, let’s discuss the real villain of the piece: retching.

It’s become my unwanted everyday colleague.

Gastroparesis had been taking a lovely backseat, behaving itself, sipping a margarita quietly in the corner - and then JABatha Jabs walked in and shouted, “SURPRISE! I’m back!”

Truly, I’m beginning to ask myself the big question: is this worth it?

I can deal with the hunger pangs, the injections, even the energy dips, but starting the week off retching on the train platform like a malfunctioning lawnmower?

Not quite the glam weight-loss glow-up advert I was promised.

Work day = chaos.

Emails, meetings, Teams pings flying in like mosquitos on a hot night.

By the time I came up for air it was nearly 3pm, which explains why my colleagues got the pleasure of experiencing the pungent perfume of my wholegrain rice and chicken Panang curry from Cook.

The smell travelled faster than office gossip, and I could see the confusion on their faces: was it delicious?

Was it offensive?

Was I one Tupperware away from being reported to HR?

Who can say.

Highlight-slash-lowlight of the day: the rash.

Yes, for the second time, after jabbing, my skin decided to raise up like the Himalayas and itch like I’d rolled in nettles.

And that was even after switching sides AND not pinching.

What do you want from me, JABatha Jab?

Blood?

A sacrifice?

A sonnet?

Enter: Germoline, my old war buddy.

I slathered it on like moisturiser at a spa retreat.

It did its job (ish), but now I smell like I belong in the “medicine cabinet” aisle at Boots.

This week I’m trying the stomach jab.

May the odds be ever in my favour.

By the time the day was over, I practically sprinted to the tube, praying my retching performance art wouldn’t escalate into something public and horrifying. I perfected the “oh no, it’s just a cough” routine while silently bargaining with the gods of Transport for London: please don’t let me go viral on TikTok for all the wrong reasons.

Somehow survived the train, made it to the car, and finally - HOME.

Nothing fixes a manic Monday like walking through the door to my cats (yes, even their questionable podcast antics) and a big warm hug from my amazing boyfriend.

Honestly, highlight of the day right there. We chatted about everything and nothing - the kind of random meandering conversations where one minute you’re discussing dinner and the next you’re asking if you’d survive a zombie apocalypse armed only with a potato peeler.

(Answer: absolutely not.)

Evening vibes = cosy TV time, complete with me staring longingly at the wood burner like it’s a forbidden romance.

Didn’t light it yet (too restrained, too practical), but this weekend?

Oh, the fire will burn, and the village will smell like pure autumn bliss. Because one of my absolute fave things about this time of year is stepping outside and inhaling that intoxicating scent of wood burners and crisp late-autumn air.

Chef’s kiss.

Bring me twinkly lights, mulled wine, and hurry up Christmas!

So, Day 75 ends not with a bang, but with a sneeze, a curry-scented jumper, itchy jab rash, and the comfort of knowing that even if Mondays are chaos, I’ve got my cats, my boyfriend, and my wood burner dreams to keep me going.

And maybe, just maybe, next Monday I’ll finally launch my own Cat Podcast: Butt in Your Face FM. Stay tuned.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

Ahhh Mondays.

That cursed invention of the calendar where the universe collectively decides to remind you that the weekend is over and that you must rise before the birds, the worms, and apparently before your will to live.

Honestly, who decided Monday should come right after Sunday?

Surely we deserve a Buffer Day in between.

A Sunday 2.0.

A day dedicated purely to existing in stretchy pants and reheating yesterday’s roast potatoes. Someone call the UN.

But no.

Instead, there I was, dragged from slumber at 5am by the alarm clock - except joke’s on me, because my cats had already decided to launch into their “Cat Podcast: Season 9, Episode 475 – Live from Your Face” at 4:36am sharp.

A mixture of purring into my eardrum ASMR, followed by the familiar sound of a butt landing directly on my cheek.

Honestly, if Spotify could bottle this content, they’d cancel Joe Rogan and sign up Whiskers & Fluff ASAP.

Stumbled into the shower, stumbled out, applied mascara with all the precision of a Picasso painting, jumped in the car and drove myself to the station.

Grabbed a Notes coffee on the way to work and had my Instagram-worthy protein bowl at my desk (if it’s not on IG, does the protein even count?).

But the retching?

Back with a vengeance.

Gastroparesis had chilled for months, but the jab said:

“Surprise, babe, I’m back.”

Honestly… is it worth it?

Now, let’s discuss the real villain of the piece: retching.

It’s become my unwanted everyday colleague.

Gastroparesis had been taking a lovely backseat, behaving itself, sipping a margarita quietly in the corner - and then JABatha Jabs walked in and shouted, “SURPRISE! I’m back!”

Truly, I’m beginning to ask myself the big question: is this worth it?

I can deal with the hunger pangs, the injections, even the energy dips, but starting the week off retching on the train platform like a malfunctioning lawnmower?

Not quite the glam weight-loss glow-up advert I was promised.

Work day = chaos.

Emails, meetings, Teams pings flying in like mosquitos on a hot night.

By the time I came up for air it was nearly 3pm, which explains why my colleagues got the pleasure of experiencing the pungent perfume of my wholegrain rice and chicken Panang curry from Cook.

The smell travelled faster than office gossip, and I could see the confusion on their faces: was it delicious?

Was it offensive?

Was I one Tupperware away from being reported to HR?

Who can say.

Highlight-slash-lowlight of the day: the rash.

Yes, for the second time, after jabbing, my skin decided to raise up like the Himalayas and itch like I’d rolled in nettles.

And that was even after switching sides AND not pinching.

What do you want from me, JABatha Jab?

Blood?

A sacrifice?

A sonnet?

Enter: Germoline, my old war buddy.

I slathered it on like moisturiser at a spa retreat.

It did its job (ish), but now I smell like I belong in the “medicine cabinet” aisle at Boots.

This week I’m trying the stomach jab.

May the odds be ever in my favour.

Somehow survived the train, made it to the car, and finally - HOME.

Nothing fixes a manic Monday like walking through the door to my cats (yes, even their questionable podcast antics) and a big warm hug from my amazing boyfriend.

Honestly, highlight of the day right there. We chatted about everything and nothing - the kind of random meandering conversations where one minute you’re discussing dinner and the next you’re asking if you’d survive a zombie apocalypse armed only with a potato peeler.

(Answer: absolutely not.)

Evening vibes = cosy TV time, complete with me staring longingly at the wood burner like it’s a forbidden romance.

Didn’t light it yet (too restrained, too practical), but this weekend?

Oh, the fire will burn, and the village will smell like pure autumn bliss. Because one of my absolute fave things about this time of year is stepping outside and inhaling that intoxicating scent of wood burners and crisp late-autumn air.

Chef’s kiss.

Bring me twinkly lights, mulled wine, and hurry up Christmas!

So, Day 75 ends not with a bang, but with a sneeze, a curry-scented jumper, itchy jab rash, and the comfort of knowing that even if Mondays are chaos, I’ve got my cats, my boyfriend, and my wood burner dreams to keep me going.

And maybe, just maybe, next Monday I’ll finally launch my own Cat Podcast: Butt in Your Face FM. Stay tuned.

With Love,

JABatha Christie

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