Honestly, I almost didn’t show up here today. My brain’s been a bit of a tangled yarn ball lately — buzzing thoughts, half-finished coffee mugs, guilt about that dead houseplant in the corner. But here I am. Maybe you too, for reasons only you know. I like that we can both hide here a bit.
I was thinking about how when I was small, I used to catch bees in a jar. Don’t panic — I let them go. Usually. There’s something about watching them bump around inside glass, confused but determined, that still pops into my head when I feel stuck. Maybe we’re all just bees in jars, hitting invisible walls we built ourselves.
If you’ve never really watched a honeybee up close, do it someday. Or just peek at this quick read and pretend. Their tiny legs dusted with pollen, the way they dance figure-eights to gossip about flowers. It’s wild how much drama lives inside a hive. Sometimes I think my brain is its own chaotic hive — except none of my bees make honey. Just noise.
And the helium part? Right. I can’t remember why I even smashed bees and helium together in a name. Maybe because some days I feel too heavy, and other days I wish my thoughts would float away like cheap balloons on a birthday lawn. Did you know you’re not supposed to inhale helium? I mean, besides sounding like a chipmunk — it can really mess you up. Here’s a bit about that if you’re bored.
Anyway. This site doesn’t promise big answers. Or even small ones, honestly. It’s more like a half-forgotten attic where I toss bits of mind fuzz so they don’t rot inside me. Maybe you need a place like that too. I hope you do. Everyone should.
Today my mind fuzz says: I miss sending letters. Not emails, but the real kind — stamps, smudged ink, maybe a pressed clover taped to the corner. Once, I wrote my grandma a letter full of made-up stories about me being a forest witch. She called me weird and sent back a five dollar bill. Fair trade, I guess.
If I ever get brave enough, I might open a tiny PO box and let strangers mail me postcards. Would you write one? Maybe tell me about the weirdest dream you’ve ever had. Or about the time you rescued a bee from drowning in your pool. Or just a recipe for your grandma’s cookies. I’d read every one.
Sometimes I find myself scrolling through r/Beekeeping at 2AM, pretending I’ll get my own hive someday. Probably a bad idea — I kill succulents by forgetting they exist for weeks. But it’s a comforting thought: my own little buzzing army, making golden sweetness while I drink coffee and overthink my life.
I don’t have a clever ending for this mess. Maybe that’s perfect. Life rarely hands you neat bows, right? So if you’re reading this and your jar feels a bit too tight, open the lid for a second. Or tie a balloon to your wrist, real or imaginary. Or just sit here with me and breathe.
Thanks for peeking into my odd box of thoughts today. Come back sometime if you want more half-formed musings, bees that don’t sting, and helium dreams that don’t deflate too soon. May your next thought be lighter than this one.
