Noticed a new sleep low for my HR last night when I logged into my Fitbit account. It hit down at 65. My typical sleep HR seems to be 68 to 73. My resting HR when I’m awake is 85 to 95. Working out can range from 120 to 140.

Where I’m leaning toward tachycardia, Tom is leaning toward bradycardia. He’s gotten down as low as 45 in his sleep and the 80s is considered “booming” for him.

Our research shows that neither one of us is in danger. He has no symptoms, although my rapid pulse can be uncomfortable at times, sprinkled with a little terror when you give me too much thyroid hormone. As much as I would love to have those perfect numbers, a perfect thyroid score for me means I could hit 130 just sitting on my ass. No fun feeling like you’re having a heart attack.

A few days ago I started retaining water as if my period was right around the corner, even though it’s not due until the 15th. I asked Tammy if that, along with my last period being late and short-lived was consistent with perimenopause and she said yes. I owe her a translation if she finds a mysterious letter somewhere in one of my languages in exchange for the medical advice, LOL.

I went out walking earlier and chatted with Bob who is trimming by the back corner. Kudos to him for having the guts to work with the bees and spiders that are coming to life a little too fast. He thanked me for the wind chime and asked about the cruise.

He didn’t know anything more than I know about the house that sold, but what I do know is that they’re annoying me with their remodeling racket. I just hope it’s not the owners doing the remodeling. Really, why can’t we just get an indoorsy old couple? People speak of too many couch potatoes in the world as part of what’s leading to the national obesity crisis. Send them here! I want all the potatoes… Couch potatoes, chair potatoes, lounge potatoes, rocking chair potatoes… I want ‘em all. Instead, I keep getting neighbors who are anything but lazy and who love the outdoors as much as I love chocolate. Then again, four of the houses in my immediate surroundings haven’t been a problem at all.

The dream people tried to blow me up last night. Yeah, in Dreamland I was held hostage in a large elevator somewhere with about a dozen other people. They threatened to bomb us if we dared leave the elevator, but as soon as the doors popped open I ran scared. Someone cried out my name in fear and desperation, but instead of looking behind me or turning back, I ran even faster in case they made good on their threats. Sure enough, I heard a loud explosion behind me. Amazingly, though, no one was hurt.

Later…

Just grabbed the mail and said hello to both Bob and Virginia who are sitting out in front of their place reading papers. It’s beautiful out now and I have the doors and bedroom window open.

Every now and then curiosity draws me to Doc C’s page to see what interesting travel photos she may’ve posted and what she’s looking like these days. So I did just that last night and found she’d changed her name to Lara S. Lara S? LOL. Lara’s her middle name, but S? Also, her account is now almost all private. Hmm… has somebody been getting their stalk on? Someone must’ve pestered her for her to literally change her account to a fake name and hide her shit.

I’m tempted to send her the rest of the story I didn’t finish sending her just to see if she blocks me or not. I mean, it might answer my question as to whether or not she got my messages. She might’ve gotten them but never noticed them in her ‘other’ box if they landed there. Hard to believe one as smart and as observant as a doctor would miss that, but hell, I had to be the one to figure out that the root of my anxiety was/is perimenopause. So maybe sending a few chapters at a time will tell me for she’d certainly block me sooner or later and I’m genuinely curious. Then again, maybe she liked getting my messages and would be interested in the story, yet still has her reasons for not replying.

I like how Facebook added reactions to posts. Now you can be sad, angry, laugh, love it or be surprised.