Day 98: Smurfs, Spreadsheets & Serial Killers

Ah, Day 98.

It began, as all glamorous mornings do, with me waking up at 5pm… wait. No.

That’s not a typo.

5pm.

I woke up to Molly’s butt in my face.

The alarm hadn’t even gone off - apparently, I’m now on dog time.

There I was, bleary-eyed, fumbling in the darkness, trying to locate my dignity and a pair of socks, before realising: I actually had to function like a human being today.

So off I went, driving through the pitch-black abyss, muttering motivational quotes to myself like:

“You’re doing great.”

“You are the moment.”

“Don’t hit that bin, JABataha.”

The Train of Regret

By the time I got to the train, I was half-awake and half-dead.

Made it to the office - triple shot oat flat white in hand (obviously) - and, as always, turned on all the lights on the floor.

Because who else would?

I’m the human sunrise of my workplace.

Breakfast of (Smurf) Champions

Breakfast was… an experience.

I grabbed a Bircher muesli from Pret that was, for reasons unknown to God or science, blue.

Not “hint of blueberry” blue.

Not “cute pastel Pinterest smoothie bowl” blue. No - full Bridget Jones Xmas soup blue vives.

I stared at it for a moment, questioning all my life choices, then ate it anyway because… protein.

But honestly?

It tasted like sadness and wet cardboard. I think my tongue is still traumatised.

If I start shrinking or develop a craving for mushrooms and woodland real estate, you’ll know why.

Spreadsheet Safari

The rest of the morning (and afternoon, and eternity) was a blur of meetings, spreadsheets, presentations, and emails marked “urgent” that were, in fact, not urgent at all.

But! I genuinely love being in the office.

I’ve got such a fab team - the kind of people who make even Excel seem tolerable.

We laugh, we gossip, we Google symptoms together (“Can caffeine cause death?”), and somehow we still get everything done.

It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos.

My Arm’s Little Drama

Between Zoom calls and existential dread, I had a GP appointment about my arm (which has been auditioning for a role in The Exorcist lately).

Verdict: referred to orthopaedics.

Possible steroid injection incoming.

Lovely.

Nothing says “treat yourself” like a large needle being inserted into your limb.

Sweets, Salmon & Sneaky Hunger

As it was my birthday on Saturday (yes, still milking it, thank you very much 🎂), I decided to treat my lovely colleagues to some sweets. I popped into Waitrose - because I’m a classy enabler - and bought an array of fancy sugar bombs.

Also grabbed a salmon poke bowl from Itsu because health balance, darling.

I then inhaled it like I was auditioning for Man vs Food: Mounjaro Edition.

Yep.

Food noise is back.

Loud, proud, and shouting things like “You deserve a snack for breathing!”

Two more jabs of 7.5 left and then it’s time to face 10mg.

Was hoping to avoid it, but at this point, I’m plateaued harder than a cutting board.

Oh well.

Weigh-In Eve

Tomorrow’s weigh-in and jab day.

Do I feel confident?

Absolutely not.

I suspect the scale is going to say, “You again?” and laugh in my face.

But we’ll see.

Maybe the Smurf muesli had negative calories.

One can dream.

Leaving at “Normal” Time (Who Am I?)

For once, I actually left the office at a normal time.

I didn’t close the place down like the ghost of Excel past.

I got home… at a reasonable hour!

Did I make dinner?

Of course not.

Let’s not be ridiculous.

Monster: The Ed Gein Story - Why Am I Like This?

Now, about my latest questionable life choice.

Before bed, I decided to watch Episode 3 of Monster: The Ed Gein Story.

And all I can say is… what the actual hell.

This man.

This story.

This disturbing, skin-suit nightmare of a series.

I don’t know why I keep watching it.

It’s horrifying, it’s disturbing, it’s giving “get thee to therapy” energy - and yet, I can’t stop.

There’s something morbidly hypnotic about it. Like watching a car crash in slow motion while knitting a jumper out of nerves.

Every episode I swear, “That’s it, I’m done,” and five minutes later, Netflix auto-plays the next one and I’m like, “Well, it would be rude not to.”

I genuinely think I need an exorcism after this show.

The 8pm Grandma Shutdown

By 8pm, I was done.

Like, truly done.

Curled up in bed like a Victorian orphan, lights off, muttering, “Getting up at 5 is a lot… or maybe I’m just old.”

Either way, I was unconscious by 8:15, dreaming of blue muesli, poke bowls, and a scale that finally moves.

So there you have it, my beloved Jabbers - Day 98: a full buffet of chaos, carbs, caffeine, and crime documentaries.

With Love,

JABatha Christie