One hundred degrees
That's what my thermometer says.
I'm hunkered down in the house with my napping Turtles, an oscillating fan, and a good load of PTSD.
The deadbolts are locked but I keep checking and double checking them. I've spent the better part of the hour watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood looking for suspicious activity. There is none, of course, because even lowlife robbers probably don't want to go out in this heat.
I feel like I am vibrating at higher frequency than any other species on Earth. I'm not sleeping well and I am clearly exhibiting some obsessive-compulsive behavior. I don't want to leave my house but I am afraid to be here too.
I'm not the first person to be robbed and I certainly won't be the last but I'm having a hard time accepting that this has happened. It's difficult to move on when I still have more pawn shops to check for my jewelry. It is also unsettling to open your email and discover that someone called Apple tech support about my stolen computer. (Apparently these robbers are also morons.) I've also been warned that the burglars often comeback within a month so that they can score all the loot you've replaced with your insurance money.
Now if that doesn't give me sweet dreams, I don't know what will.