Day 87-90: Two Lazy, Two Crazy

My darling Jabbers, please forgive my radio silence these past four days - I assure you I have neither joined a cult nor eloped with a breadstick.

It’s simply been… two lazy days and two crazy days.

A true yin and yang of Mounjaro life.

The scales of chaos and calm delicately balanced atop a pile of cat sick, mashed potatoes, and questionable decision-making.

Let’s dive in.

Saturday: The Day of the Sick Cat and Cancelled Zen

The day began as all great tragedies do: with a noise that made me question whether a poltergeist or a fur baby was involved.

It was poor Ruby, my tiny queen of chaos, who decided to projectile vomit at 5 a.m. - narrowly missing my actual face while perched on my chest. Truly, her aim was chef’s kiss.

I, naturally, responded like a nurturing mother - by screeching, fumbling for the Vanish, and Googling “can cats get food poisoning from licking my yogurt?” at 5:12 a.m.

With the sound bowl retreat dream smashed to bits (can’t exactly “find inner peace” when scrubbing vomit out of your duvet), I declared it a Lazy Girl’s Lockdown Day.

Ruby and I stayed in bed like two depressed seals, watching Netflix, occasionally judging each other’s snack choices.

Meanwhile, Boyfriend DJ was living his best life - sports, DJing, and probably mixing Dancing Queen into something with a techno drop.

I’m one more ABBA track away from installing a disco ball in the kitchen out of sheer defiance.

As for food, I think there was pork and mash cooked by my better half, but honestly… the memory’s foggier than my bathroom mirror post-shower. Either way, I didn’t eat much - unless you count coffee, mild regret, and a stray Pringle.

Sunday: Domestic Goddess (Sort Of)

Sunday was “lazy with a purpose.”

We ventured out for food shopping - where I, as usual, pretended I didn’t see the total at the till.

Back home, I went full housewife mode: 3 loads of washing, deep-cleaned the car (aka Mini, who had been overtaken by a family of very settled spiders 🕷️), and watched Boyfriend disappear into zombie game mode - where communication is limited to grunts and the occasional “revive me!”

Dinner? Well, I made chili con carne but, plot twist - didn’t eat it. Because my stomach, my fickle friend, said “no thank you, I’d rather perish.”

Instead, we had marinated chicken tikka cubes with some Indian trimmings, which I also nibbled suspiciously like a raccoon encountering a Dorito.

Then came NFL time, and naturally, my team - THE SEAHAWKS - won.

Cue me shouting “WOOHOO!” at the TV like I personally coached them.

An early night followed, because Sunday nights are sacred and my body had already decided that digestion was a dangerous hobby.

Monday: Ah, Monday. The day hope goes to die

I arrived at the office full of ambition, caffeine, and lies. You know that fresh Monday energy where you tell yourself, “This week, I’ll be organised, hydrated, and unbothered.”

By 9:15am, I was all three - but in reverse.

The day started innocently enough: coffee, chit-chat, and a small avalanche of emails that all began with “Just circling back…” (I was tempted to circle back to bed.)

Then came the main event - the unpredictable team onsite.

Four hours. In a single room. With agenda, no boundaries, no escape.

Just us, our thoughts, and a flip chart that had already seen too much.

The invitation had said, “Let’s use this time to discuss anything and everything.” Which, as it turns out, was not a metaphor.

We genuinely discussed anything and everything.

From project updates to personality types, to someone’s dog’s anxiety disorder.

At one point, I’m fairly sure we debated the correct pronunciation of “data.”

There were whiteboards.

There were post-its.

There were words like synergy, pivot, and low-hanging fruit flying around like emotional shrapnel.

Copilot was taking notes, and me?

After hour three I’d mostly been doodling spirals and writing “send help” in cursive.

By hour four, time had lost all meaning.

My face hurt from nodding supportively.

My soul had left my body and was hovering by the snack table, whispering “it’s okay, you tried.”

When we were finally released back into the wild, I felt like a hostage blinking into daylight.

But then came hope - the Turkish dinner.

The light at the end of the corporate tunnel. A well-earned feast!

Except… no.

The second the food arrived, my appetite clocked out.

Gone.

One look at the plates and my stomach said, “absolutely not, we’re done for today.”

And this was good food!

Or so I was told.

I wanted to want it. #

But the emotional trauma of four hours of “sharing ideas” had apparently filled me up.

My soul was stuffed.

I could barely face a falafel.

So, I nibbled politely, smiled at the kebabs, and engaged in the classic post-onsite conversation:

“Such great energy today!” (translation: I’m never doing that again).

Eventually, I went home - drained but weirdly proud.

Because somehow, against all odds, I’d made it through the most dangerous game of all: collaborative corporate bonding.

And that, dear jabbers, was Monday.

The day I learned that you can lose your appetite from enthusiasm fatigue.

Tuesday: The Full-Day of Offsite Extravaganza

Ah yes. Tuesday. Otherwise known as “Corporate Bootcamp for Extroverts.”

The agenda promised “collaboration, creativity and connection.”

Translation: a full-day of structured chaos involving whiteboards, group brainstorming, and at least three people who say “let’s park that” every 10 minutes.

There were Post-its.

So many Post-its.

Flip charts were flipped.

Markers squeaked.

PowerPoint presentations staring at me from 2 huge screens!

And the abundance of ceiling lights that nearly made me blind as a bat!

And by lunchtime, I was so over-ideated that I could hear PowerPoint slides in my head.

We did vision setting, group ideation, and breakout discussions where the most dominant voice inevitably “summarised” everyone else’s ideas as their own.

And then - because someone in HR clearly enjoys emotional whiplash - we had our Insights Colours session.

Right before the Q&A.

Because why not psychoanalyse 25 exhausted adults after 7 hours of strategic waffle?

Turns out I’m a Blue-Green - which apparently means I’m “calm, analytical, and values harmony”… until someone moves my colour-coded notes or uses Comic Sans in a presentation.

I sat there nodding politely while a “Fiery Red” explained how he “thrives under pressure” (translation: stresses everyone out) and a “Sunshine Yellow” suggested we end the session with a group dance.

Meanwhile, I was internally whispering “no, thank you” and fantasising about my duvet.

By 3 p.m., my Blue-Green soul was quietly twitching.

I had taken notes, cross-referenced the notes, and mentally built an Excel tracker for follow-ups while the Yellows were still shouting “Let’s think big!” across the room.

By 4 p.m., we were out of biscuits, patience, and post-its.

My brain wasn’t braining - it was buffering.

Then came the final Q&A - or as I like to call it, “the collective exhale.” Everyone was pretending to still be engaged while slowly packing their laptops and eyeing the exit like prisoners spotting an open gate.

And just when we thought we were finally free, the facilitator chirped:

“Right! Dinner and games at Electric Shuffle!”

Because apparently, the only logical next step after analysing your personality type is to compete violently with your colleagues over pucks and prosecco.

So off we went - a flock of weary professionals transformed by cocktails and flashing lights into unhinged shuffleboard champions.

Within minutes, the colour theory went out the window.

The Reds were shouting.

The Yellows were dancing.

And the Blues and Greens (hi, it’s me) were quietly keeping score, observing patterns, and internally judging everyone’s aim.

One glass of prosecco later (because, let’s be honest, Mounjaro turns me into a one-drink wonder), and suddenly I was cheering, heckling, and possibly giving a pep talk to my puck.

I became strategic, as Blues do - planning angles, discussing tactics - while my Green side made sure everyone had fun and nobody cried over a lost round.

And I won, the Queen of blue and pink pucks, YAY!

We also had loads of food but I managed to have 6 chips (1 too many and a slice of chicken from my apparently amazing burger)!

Got home, collapsed on the sofa, whispered “never again”, and passed out by 10p.m., still faintly glowing teal - the perfect mix of Blue logic and Green peacekeeping.

Observations: The State of the JAB

Sickness update: retching slightly subsided (praise be), but I’m not counting my chickens - mainly because I’d probably throw up mid-count.

Energy levels: somewhere between “Disney princess post-nap” and “zombie that just got rejected from The Walking Dead.”

Drinking on Mounjaro: officially a no-go zone. I get drunk faster than you can say “cheap date.”

I’m one Aperol Spritz away from confessing my secrets to a houseplant.

Final Thoughts

The last four days were a beautiful contrast: from cat chaos to corporate carnage. Ruby’s stomach settled, Boyfriend’s still DJing, and I’m back to whispering sweet nothings to my glucose levels.

Sometimes you miss the retreat, but maybe the lesson is this: inner peace can also be found under a blanket, with a cat purring and a bottle of Vanish nearby.

Now, excuse me while I go light a candle, pretend I’m at a wellness retreat, and pray that Wednesday brings fewer bodily fluids and fewer ABBA remixes.

With Love,

JABatha Christie