We are in the middle of a heat advisory. We’re cooler than some of the areas around us. Much of Oregon, eastern Washington and Idaho are in triple digits. It’s so hot that the servers at work shut down. We’re on a paid break for a few hours until they decide what to do. I think chances are good they’ll scrap the whole day and try again tomorrow. The heat wave here is expected to break tonight. Of course, that’s our heat wave, not the rest of the area.

Lion came to his amazing conclusion that he needs me to take charge of him. Duh. I told him I knew that. He said I haven’t been doing it. Duh. I keep trying to tell him I’m feeling overwhelmed. That’s not something that goes away quickly. I might be laughing at the TV one minute, but when he mentions the bed needs changing, it all comes rushing back.

I listened to a relaxation podcast the other day. The speaker gave an example of stress enacting the fight or flight response. You tense up, adrenaline kicks in and you’re either going to beat the snot out of something or you’re going to run away. Imagine you beat the snot out of something. Before you have a chance to calm down, another stressor comes along. This time you run. Before you have a chance to calm down again, another stressor comes along. Rinse and repeat. When he said this, it all made perfect sense to me. That’s what I’ve been feeling. Since I don’t deal with the stress, it builds up. I have to find a way to calm down so when the next stressor comes along, I don’t immediately want to beat the snot out of something. How do I do that? I don’t know yet.

I do know that the answer isn’t to whomp Lion. He thinks it would help, but so far it hasn’t. I need to find a batting cage. The last time I went to one was with my ex. He asked why I was hitting the ball so hard. I told them every one of them had his face on it. He thought I was joking. I was not.

Speaking of whomping Lion, I’ve been lax myself, but I realized this morning that he hasn’t been emailing me like I asked him to. He set up a new mailbox for me, and then both of us promptly forgot about it. If I don’t see an email before noon tomorrow, I will have to take matters (and paddles) into my own hands. No, he can’t cheat and send me one today for tomorrow. It has to be between 8 am and noon. Our time. Not Greenwich mean time. Not Outer Mongolia time. (Just trying to close as many loopholes as possible.)

Listen to this post.