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When Bees Sleep - Definitely Not a Poem
Once in a while I'll indulge myself in the freedom of Stream of Consciousness writing. This is one of those time. This is how my brain looks unedited.
Do you ever stare at the back of your hands lit up by your monitor, frozen there waiting for some kind of inspiration to strike? That's kinda like my life. I have ideas, grand ones in fact, but I’m too afraid to go after them. I mean look at every grand idea I’ve had so far. O.K., you're right, they all worked until I eventually got bored. Maybe I’m too smart, to not be scared now. Too old, to not be tired. Ideas take energy and in the end I’ll still be here sitting on my couch wondering, "Why?" Wondering, "Is this it?"
You have a dream, go after it, do it until it bores you, then chase another. When you step back and examine this process from a distance, it just seems futile. Kinda like a bee sucking nectar from one and then another flower. But look, there is a whole field. Do you know how many lifetimes that would take? It makes me exhausted contemplating it. Maybe it's just because I’m tired of this flower, and that pretty big red one is so far away I can’t even bring it into focus. Maybe it's a nectar induced mirage. Maybe there is no big red flower. Maybe I see it because I need something new to suck on. I can almost smell it from here. But I can’t seem to find my hunger.
Maybe the answer is not in my keyboard, maybe it's in my bed. I’ll plug back into the hive and dream of magic poppies that make all creatures sleep. In my dream the queen will lace my meal with royal jelly and I will wake with the power and drive of a hundred bees, ready to suck the life out of anything in my path. Or maybe the royal jelly will change my species and I will awake and see this drivel left on my screen. I will hit delete and we will never speak of this again.