I went out at 2 AM and it was sweltering hot outside: weather site reported a dewpoint of 75° and a temperature of 85°, and there was no breeze whatsoever. I doubt the temperature fell below 80 all night, considering that the sun rises about 5:30 AM. It was not quite like entering a sauna.
(The current station in operation that's closest to the bunker reports a nighttime low of 79.3°. And it was only at that temperature for one hour. Sunrise was at 5:32--so the "nighttime" temperature was only below 80° for about fifteen minutes. My doubt was misplaced...but not by very damn much. The projected low temp for the night was 75°.)
So I hung a thermometer in various places around the house and it says the indoor temperature is averaging about 80°...and coming back in from outside at two AM felt like going into a meat locker. Holy crap.
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Yes, drinking too much water can be bad for you. That whole "eight glasses per day!" thing that was the latest in nutritional science a few years ago turned out to be bunk. What a, uh, surprise.
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Similarly, I'm not cutting the grass or doing any chores outside. I have to go to the bank and post office, but that doesn't involve any real physical labor. If I'm not driving the Fiero to the cruise night, then I don't need to adjust the rear brakes. Etcetera.
...went to bed at 2:30 AM, feeling tired, and anxiety attack! WTF. So, Xanax again, about 3:30 AM, which has (as usual) left me feeling doped up and foggy--I dislike resorting to the Xanax for that reason--but my train of thought was no longer thrashing about, uselessly flailing against things I cannot do anything about (particularly not at 2:30 AM) and I was able to relax enough to sleep.
If I were the violent type I would plan to slug the next person who said I "just" have an anxiety disorder. For crying out loud. (Although I'm the one who says that most often, I get to. Kind of like how black people can call each other "n_gger" with abandon.) But I'm not the violent type.
Depression and anxiety go hand-in-hand, because you get to worrying about all kinds of things you can do nothing about, then realize you can do nothing about them, and then you get depressed because there are all these things that can screw you up which are utterly beyond your control.
All the bullshit with the property taxes and stuff--and dealing with my sister from Louisiana, the one who unloaded on me because I'd had a whole day to recuperate after being out of the mental hospital and was still doing nothing useful to her--has left me in a pretty stressful and wound-up state. Depression: 3-ish, which is the highest it's been since early June. So I've been trying to quietly de-stress and unwind as best I can, which is not working very well, leaving me in this jangled mess of a state.
Reminder to self: I'm stable, not well. It's going to take some time to get well; six weeks isn't enough. It took me a long time to get into this crap; it'll take a while to get out.
Other reminder to self: the rebuilding phase will take a while, too. I've got the time. Relax.
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I haven't put any more paint on the helmet. It's on my "to do" list.
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Although I am dedicated to Mio, I must say for the sake of clarity that I have a hard time ignoring Mugi. And she really has a nice butt: