Coughing and sneezing and hacking and sniffling, it surrounds me in my office. It seems the whole world around me has come down with some various cold or another. I can hear each disgruntled ill noise from the cubicles around me and it makes me think of life in a bee-hive. I’m sure the constant buzzing would drive my little bee brain insane. Much like the office noise has clearly driven me mad.
It’s the constant sounds of typing and talking and phones ringing and the coughing and breathing and coffee sipping and desk radios playing that makes me so crazy. If a giant came along and tore the roof off the building I bet it would look very much like the insides of a bee-hive to him. I can imagine a giant hand dropping in and scooping up a bunch of the soda machines in search of that elusive nectar we produce. We’d run at that giant hand with our office furniture, trying to sting him to death.
Although, knowing what I know about myself I’m sure I’d go equally as mad if it was completely dead silent. I’m too citified for the peaceful tranquility of nature. If I don’t hear an ambulance at least once every half hour I get nervous. Plus all those movies with those long desolate country roads, sweltering in the summer heat, cicadas buzzing like military trumpeters overhead makes me a little afraid. As if some horrible beast of mythology will erupt from the ground and swallow me up and drag me, screaming, to hell.
Hell is, of course, the office I already work in. So you can see the cyclical horror I’m currently embroiled. And, being hell, there is a requirement that I work, making honey to feed the larval stage bees, so they can grow and continue to work for the collective.
I need a honey and a drink. (To get buzzed) Perhaps things will get more interesting then.