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.”