Okay, I got a totes xTra story I want to share with you.
For those who can’t deal with my walls of words, I don’t blame you and I’ve got a short version for you, and a long version for the 3 people who actually take the time and listen to the bollocks I bang on with.
Short Version: I found a dead bee.
Long Version: Oh. My. Fucking. God!
First I want to start by saying I am the most unCosmic, zen, “Magic Happens”, ask the universe type person.. unless it suits my agenda.
So yesterday I paid 15 cents for a print coz I’m all about not doing another Banksy. It says “into the garden I go, to lose my mind and find my soul”, and I bought a frame for $1 from Vinnies. I was feeling all unwasteful and faux zen, thinking that’s going straight to the Bloom Room. While mentally congratulating how mindful, zen and magic happensy I am.
So I squeeze the pic in the frame and look at where I will hang the pic.
I move this:-
And see this:-
It’s a bee who has embarked on the long sleep. The sleep we never wake from.
My mind swirling with questions!
How did it get there?
What are the chances of a bee being behind my bee rock?
It’s winter and I have no flowers?
Omg a sleeping beeeeeeee!
So now I’m fully channeling my inner zen magic happens ask the universe flower child persona.
I must honour the bee.
I MUST HONOUR THE BEE!
So I ask the universe, and the universe reminds me I’m an avid crafter, go to my craft box, there I will find my answer, and the universe and I decide to embalm my bee in resin. Because in death there is beauty. Beauty in the bee. Bee beautiful! Bee zen! Bee mindful! Bee! Bee! Beeeeeeee!
So I rack it up, and oh my fucking god! Let the trama begin. I push the bee into the glass coffin, pour the resin, my bee keeps floating to the top, legs up, like in full dead mode. Not sleeping beauty. Dead as a door nail. I panic, so I get a Carhook and accidentally spear it’s guts, so now it’s kinda almost in two pieces. We continue this dance for half an hour, I push her down, she spins onto her back and floats up. The horror coming in waves. At one point I nearly knock her head off. I have to use a Carhook to keep her down, so I feel like I’m drowning my dead bee in resin.
Then finally the resin thickens enough to hold her, upright.
With the ordeal finally over I’m just left to wonder what the actual fuck is wrong with me?
But as my nan used to say “alls well that ends with a bee in a tiny glass coffin covered in resin with tiny little plastic flowers”
For those of you thinking about pouring resin on a dead bee, just don’t.
Oh and this is the 15cent picture sitting proud in her new spot that started the roller coaster of skull fuckery, trama, and horror!