Apiphobia

I feel like I have often written about my fear of bees and wasps on this blog. This will not deter me from writing about it again today.

Several months ago, I was having recurrent nightmares about bees, which was odd because it was the middle of winter, and my apian nightmares typically don't start until spring. In my dreams, I returned home to find my bedroom infested with so many bees that they covered the wall like wallpaper, teeming on my bed and books, and streaming out of a gaping hole in the wall where they must have made their nest. The humming surrounded me, droning and and out of focus as I was charged with the task of blocking up the nest entrance myself with a clumsy, melting block of clay. All of my nightmares ended with me running from the bees, unable to escape the incessant buzzing as a dense cloud of insects followed me into oblivion.

Every morning I awoke exhausted and confused as to why my apiphobia was emerging so early in the year.

One night I awoke unexpectedly in the middle of a bee nightmare, and the terrifying hum of insects still penetrated my bedroom. In a panic, I patted my bedding and shook my head in case there were bees crawling in it. No? Then what was this humming sound?

I realized very quickly that it was my new upstairs neighbor, who is apparently insane, vacuuming at 3am. WHO VACUUMS AT 3AM!? Every night!? Needless to say, I don't have very much affection for my new neighbor. Actually, I despise her and her red-eye vacuuming, schizophrenic plant care schedule, and seemingly normal and pleasant interactions with me when we occasionally run into each other on the walkway. Anybody who makes me dream of bees is my instant and permanent enemy.

Keep that in mind, Jerry Seinfeld.