131: To Improve a Life

The bee buzzes around my head. I've been trying to read about self-improvement for the past hour. 

It brushes past my neck, so close that I feel the coldness of its wake. The sound is mechanical, like a pick-up speeding over the gear it's currently in. It crashes into the window across the room. Open, yet not open enough. 

Then it's flying again. 

The sound worms its way into my head, replacing the words at the same rate as I'm tasting them, turning them into the angry buzz of too cold unripe lingonberries that explode against the roof of my mouth as I clench my jaws and try to swallow. The book says something about expanding the mind to ignore such trivialities as the bee crashing head-first into the window again and again and again as it tries to widen the crack, and if only I could let go of its frenetic protests then my whole existence would be relaxed and comfortable because I have all that I need for myself and it's not my problem that the bee is stuck in here anyway.

Except it is. 

I put the book away and push the window open. The bee soars past me into the sun-warmed air.

Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad)