Just finished my second day of bee school. I’m embroiled in typing up my notes, trying to decipher what I meant by “proboscis straw hairy”. On the one hand I love it. I hated biology in high school, all the cells and moving around and brightly colored diagrams, but now I think it was because there wasn’t really any practical applications. I mean, we did labs, and transferred things from one tube to another with osmosis, and even did the DNA extraction with onions, but it was boring. Why the hell would I want to extract DNA from an onion? Bee school is awesome.

On the other hand, I can’t start yet. I’m moving in with Foxy some time in the next year. I’ll have a garden here, but I’m not going to get to do some of the things that I was so excited about when I bought a house- chickens, bees, trees -because I need somewhere that I’m going to be for awhile. A bee box weighs 15 pounds. A package of bees weighs 3 pounds. After a year of living in it, a package of bees makes their bee box weigh 80-100 pounds from wax and honey, so they aren’t entirely portable. The other thing is Foxy’s house isn’t a good place for bees. Her lot is narrow and long, with her house on the west end, so her backyard is bathed in shadow from 4 o’clock on. Shady bees go to bed early, and are more susceptible to disease.

So I’m still not settled enough for this. And all the other wild and crazy twenties’ dreams are still kicking around in there too. What about biking cross country? Wouldn’t I rather just have an Airstream trailer? I feel wrapped in batting with more stuff being added, with me adding more, I’m doing it, and I can’t get away from the responsibilities I’ve created for myself. I want to do these things, so I have to take on the obligations that come along with them.

I’m also not incredibly patient. I know, I know, an impatient Aries, Qu’elle Surprise. I want to be ready to do it NOOOw, but I also want it to be 5 years off. And I’ve been thinking about the whole house that way from the beginning as well. The only doing what I need to to make money, versus the desire to set up a suburban homestead. And in the process I’ve confused the hell out of Foxy and myself.

Pllbt.