Bees for dinner

I hardly ever have active, memorable dreams and when I do it usually means I have to start writing again to quiet the noise in my head.

Last night I distinctly recall going to the refrigerator in a strange house somewhere, looking for something to eat.  What I found was two bees.  They were both roughly four inches long and they weren’t dead.  They were nearly dead though, like when you find a bee that has been trapped in your house for a long time and it can’t fly any more because it’s starving.

I thought I should kill them before eating them, so I figured I could squash their heads with my thumb and forefinger.  But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do that so I threw them on the floor, meaning to step on their heads.

Then I thought, “there has to be something else to eat in here,” and pulled out some sliced roast beef instead.

But what, I wondered, am I going to do with the two bees?  One of them could almost fly.  The kitchen had two sliding doors leading to a back deck and I figured I could just let them outside to fend for themselves.  Although there was a bag full of bees still in the refrigerator; surely whoever’s house this was would be upset if I freed some of their food?

It was at this point my brain said, “wake up, for God’s sake.  This is beyond stupid.”