Day 99: The Day I Drove Through a Lake, Ate a Croissant, and Questioned My Life Choices

Ah, my darling Jabbers. We meet again.

Day 99.

Ninety-nine days of jabs, bloating, burping, bravery, and now… rain.

So much rain.

Let’s dive right in (quite literally, as you’ll soon see).

5am - Rise and Whine:

Another 5am wake-up.

Why?

Who am I trying to impress?

The King?

The sunrise?

Nevertheless, I heroically rolled out of bed, muttering obscenities and negotiating with my knees, who were not in the mood to bend.

First mission of the day: weigh-in.

And let me tell you - the scales did not get the memo about “positive energy.”

Result:

Zero.

Nada.

Zilch.

No weight lost for the second week in a row.

I stood there dramatically, clutching my towel, staring at the numbers like I’d just witnessed a betrayal.

I’ve eaten blue bircher muesli, for crying out loud.

I’ve earned some movement.

I whispered, “What am I doing wrong?”

The scale remained silent, smug.

Oh well.

Maybe next week.

Maybe the scale just needs time to emotionally process my efforts.

Welcome (Not) Storm Benjamin

Then came Storm Benjamin.

Honestly, who names these storms?

Benjamin sounds like a friendly accountant, not a category 5 menace sent from the heavens to ruin everyone’s commute.

Rain was falling sideways.

Puddles had upgraded to small lakes.

I genuinely considered wearing a wetsuit.

Driving to the train station felt like navigating a water park designed by Satan.

At one point, I hit a puddle so deep I’m fairly certain it had its own ecosystem.

I just prayed nobody was standing on the pavement, because if they were - they’re not anymore.

They’ve been relocated via tidal wave.

Sorry, Brenda.

Breakfast of the Emotionally Conflicted:

By the time I reached civilisation, I looked like a damp woodland creature with frizzy hair and regret.

So I did what any sane woman does after a failed weigh-in and aquatic adventure: Grabbed a triple shot oat flat white.

But wait. There’s more.

Ham and cheese croissant.

Yes, you read that correctly.

FOOD.

NOISE.

IS.

BACK.

And not just whispering - shouting.

I was hungry.

Like, properly hungry.

I stared at that croissant like it owed me money and then I inhaled it faster than you can say “caloric sabotage.”

But oh, it was glorious.

Buttery, flaky, slightly sinful.

Then came the guilt… immediately followed by crumbs on my jumper. Standard.

Ear Adventures (Because Why Not?):

Next stop: ear cleaning appointment.

Because apparently, my ear canals are so narrow they could double as credit card slots.

No cotton buds allowed - not that I’d want to.

I hate those things.

They just push the wax in further, like a bad metaphor for my coping mechanisms.

So, every six months, it’s microsuction time.

If you’ve never had it done, imagine a tiny Hoover going vrooooom inside your skull.

Weirdly satisfying yet deeply disturbing.

Still, at least I can hear again - perfect timing to enjoy more rain hitting the windows at 400mph.

Back to the Grind:

Back to the office - damp, caffeinated, and with unnervingly clean ears.

The day?

Absolute chaos.

Meetings, emails, spreadsheets, Teams pings, PowerPoints, deadlines - the usual corporate circus.

At one point, I blinked and three hours disappeared.

Either time travel is real, or I disassociated while formatting a pivot table.

Probably both.

Lunch That Betrayed Me:

For lunch, I went to Leon because I was trying to be virtuous.

Ordered something healthy-ish.

Ate half.

Brought the rest home, because apparently my stomach has now shrunk to the size of a peanut.

But don’t be fooled by my restraint - that half a lunch hit me like a tranquiliser dart.

Within minutes, I was in a food coma.

So it couldn't be that healthy...

Couldn’t concentrate.

Couldn’t function.

Just sat there, eyes glazed, pretending to listen in meetings while mentally floating above my desk.

Train of Exhaustion:

I left early (which, for me, means “still late by normal human standards”) and staggered toward the train station like a zombie who just needs a nap and a carb.

I wanted to sleep on the train - oh, how I wanted to.

But then my anxious brain reminded me:

“Someone will steal your stuff.”

And considering I was carrying:

My phone (which contains my entire existence),

My handbag (heavy enough to double as a murder weapon),

And my work laptop (aka the ball and chain of corporate servitude),

…I decided to stay awake.

Barely.

Jab, Collapse, Repeat:

Finally got home, looking like a drowned rat that had been through a spreadsheet storm.

Did my 7.5mg jab - the pen clicked, I sighed, we both accepted our fate - and then I collapsed on the sofa.

Didn’t even fancy watching TV. But, in true JABatha fashion, I forced myself to continue my descent into psychological chaos with Episode 4 of Monster: The Ed Gein Story.

Why?

I don’t know.

I hate it.

It’s disturbing, grotesque, and absolutely insane - yet I cannot stop watching.

It’s like junk food for my brain.

You hate yourself after, but you keep going back for more.

That man should have come with a warning label and a priest.

The Final Collapse:

By the time the credits rolled, I was emotionally and physically done.

Dragged myself to bed, ready for a long, uninterrupted night of sleep.

Unless, of course, meow chat begins at 3am - the nightly talk show featuring dramatic pacing, existential yowling, and zero commercial breaks.

So that’s Day 99 in the life of your girl, JABatha Christie:

Rain-soaked, croissant-fuelled, wax-free, bloated, jabbed, and traumatised by a murderer.

Tomorrow, I work from home - a little lie-in is the dream… but knowing my luck, I’ll be up before sunrise discussing existentialism with a cat.

Goodnight, my darling Jabbers.

May your scales be kind, your croissants be warm, and your ear canals forever unobstructed.

With Love,

JABatha Christie