Day 86: The Peak, the Purr, and the Power of the Heating Button

Slept like an absolute dream.

Honestly, my bed deserves an award.

A BAFTA, an MBE, something.

It’s the only consistent relationship in my life (except my fab boyfriend of course), that delivers unconditional comfort without complaint (unless you count the dent from my side).

Naturally, by 6am the MeowCast Morning Show was in full swing - live from my chest. Ruby, my personal furry alarm clock, decided to make biscuits directly on me.

Those tiny paw presses of love… equal parts adorable and painful.

Nothing says “good morning” like feline kneading that could double as acupuncture.

Moments later, the upstairs diva - Molly - made her grand entrance.

She’s fully moved upstairs now and, in true Molly fashion, has stolen all of Ruby’s beds.

Again.

Every cushion, blanket, and cat throne now belongs to Her Majesty.

Poor Ruby’s down to sleeping wherever Molly allows - usually somewhere symbolic, like the floor beside a perfectly empty, heated cat bed.

My man went off to work like a responsible adult, and I… went back to bed. Because I could.

Whoever invented working from home deserves a Nobel Prize, a statue, and free snacks for life.

Honestly, this is civilisation at its peak. Logged in at 8am like the professional I am - still horizontal, obviously.

Made myself a coffee with my beloved collagen (because self-care), but could barely manage half.

Why?

Because it’s Peak Day - the Mounjaro rollercoaster hits its highest loop.

And when that happens, hunger and thirst take a holiday.

Appetite?

Cancelled.

Energy? Non-existent.

Mood?

Fragile. I’m basically a sleepy ghost with a laptop.

The Mounjaro peak is a strange thing - some people get nausea, others get exhaustion, and a lucky few get both, with a sprinkle of existential crisis for flair.

Me?

I just feel like I’ve been gently run over by a cloud.

Not in pain, but also not fully human.

It’s Friday, for goodness’ sake - I should be out living my best cheeky bingo life, but instead, I’m under a blanket whispering, “Maybe next week, love.”

Work, naturally, decided to be intense.

Deadlines flying at me like digital frisbees.

And then came the breakfast tragedy.

I fancied eggs - my old nemesis.

Made myself a protein bagel with ham and sliced egg.

Took two bites.

The rest went straight in the bin.

The effort-to-enjoyment ratio?

Catastrophic.

But at least it didn't make me sick!

By 3 p.m., I still hadn’t felt hungry or retched (a miracle in itself), but also couldn’t bring myself to eat anything.

Food felt… boring.

Like my brain had put a giant “DO NOT EAT” post-it on my frontal lobe.

I just sat there like, someone please tell me what to eat before I wither into dust.

Eventually, I gave up and went with toast and Marmite.

Classic, easy, slightly depressing.

Appetite block: 1, Me: 0.

The Great Heating Debate of Autumn 2025 finally ended - I caved.

Put it on for an hour and instantly regretted waiting so long.

My cold nose thawed, my toes stopped crying, and even Molly’s chronic cat snots seemed to subside.

Ruby sprawled out like a baked potato.

I made peppermint tea, added an extra jumper, and basked in the temporary illusion that I had my life together.

Wrapped work a bit early because Friday rules are sacred. Then popped out to the GP to collect my usual meds (nothing screams “glamour” like pharmacy queues and leaflets about side effects).

When I got home, I dove straight into a scalding hot bath, followed by the duvet cocoon ritual. Netflix fired up, snacks untouched (thanks again, Mounjaro), and I resumed my emotional support show - Sullivan’s Crossing. I swear I’ve seen every dramatic pause in that series twice now, but I can’t stop.

It’s giving Hallmark meets emotional turmoil, and I’m here for it.

The cherry on top?

Tomorrow, I’ve got a mindfulness and meditation retreat booked with my lovely friend - three hours of sound bowls, warm blankets, and zero notifications.

Pure bliss.

The kind of self-care that feels both deeply spiritual and mildly bougie.

I can’t wait to float away in a sea of gongs and herbal tea.

So yes, Day 86: sleepy, snackless, and semi-enlightened.

I might not have conquered the world today, but I did conquer the thermostat - and honestly, that’s enough.

With Love,

JABatha Christie