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bees in my bonnet

When grandmother would use the expression "you've got a bee in your bonnet," I would giggle at the image of some little girl in an Easter Bonnet, frantically hitting herself on the head trying to get rid of the bee. I realized later on what she meant by that phrase, particularly when the bee landed in my own bonnet.

bzzz.gifI seem to have not one, but a whole colony of bees nesting in my head this week. I think they might be having some kind of family reunion and the yellowjackets and hornets and wasps are circling and buzzing around as well and together they make a sound like a storm brewing.

I get these bees from time to time and normally I can swat them down with a few well chosen words, perhaps in the form of a blog post, or a few lines in my super-secret WordPerfect file, or some silent soliliquoy I act out in the shower.

I can't seem to stop writing this week. Every time I put my words down and hit save and send my thoughts out into the cable wires and phone lines, another bee comes along and starts humming in my head. Each bee represents something different; death, destruction, cruelty, bigotry, moral outrage, bad memories. And then there's the queen bee, the mother of all buzzers that feeds the smaller ones: September 11, 2001. It's always there, dripping bits of nutrients into the mouths of its offspring, making my urge to write and scream stronger, making my indignation bolder.

Sometimes I don't know what makes me angrier; the constant droning of the bees or what they are droning about. Sometimes I wish they would just shut up and leave me alone, but then I think that the silence would scare me more than the noise.

The buzzing seeps into my dreams and forces them to become a mural of everything that exists in my head. Last night there was a car crash; an amusement park ride that dropped us in frozen water instead of on the ground; Indonesian women trying to steer a boat to safety; bugs the size of dogs, hopping over lilly pads on a stagnant lake. My dreams are too complex to decipher, there's no underlying theme, no thing that ties all the scenes together. They are merely a result of the bees in my bonnet refusing to be quiet, even in my sleep.

As much as I complain about the buzzing and stinging, I would hate for it to stop. So I will just keep writing, just keep discarding the bees one by one even though they don't stay gone for long, and I'll learn to live with the noise in my head. In fact, I should learn to embrace those bees in my bonnet. They are, after all, me.


Listed below are links to weblogs that reference bees in my bonnet:

» Smackdown at Small Victory from Electric Venom
Michele has a number of bees in her bonnet this week, including an award for Worst Husband of the Blogosphere. Shame on you, Bill. Blogspot? That's just mean.... [Read More]

» The Hive Mind from Sketches of Strain
Another gratuitous link for that girl I link way too much. She's got a whole swarm of bees in her bonnet, apparently. Keeping her up at night, giving her bad dreams, making her boil with rage. Oh, Michele, I know... [Read More]


I've got my own bees as well. I used to smoke a LOT of grass at school because it was the only way I could get them to slow down. I never would have made it out of there intact without the hive, but it made it damn hard to sleep some nights.

But keep one, so you keep writing. Lose the bees, and we lose ASV.

(Aside for Michele: Vacation is going great; thanks for holding down Command Post; new pics later today on Avocare; hope you and Justin are great; Wife says "hi.")

candyman, candyman, candyman, candyman...

keep writing, start a book, publish it on cafepress and just keep buzzing...

Rough motivation but you are a very good writer that I enjoy reading so I see the good side of it.

The thing about those bees is that when they do go, you have a notebook full of honey, if you play your cards right. I don't think the bees will ever go away. So be a good beekeeper.



In other words, love me, love my bees.

Works for me.

So instead of a "jones" you have bees. The gift of words is a treasure beyond platinum when used to keep the bees quiet. A gift that I enjoy and that provokes thought on my part. Keep your bees well and respect their gift.