Stories from a life in progress.


For a week or so, I have been surreptitiously asking the internet for local sources of beeswax candles.

Why?  Well, because.  That's why.

Okay, okay, that's not helpful.  Part of why is that some favorite novels involving bees and beekeepers remind me that I've never encountered real beeswax, and am I am just plain curious.  It is supposed to be a very good wax for making candles, and (according to the internet) is hypoallergenic and clean-burning, which appeals to my sad, stuffy sinuses.  I like the taste and smell of honey, and I'd like to sniff a beeswax candle, because it is supposed to smell like honey (according to my books.  Also the internet.)

Part of the reason is that experiencing new things is good for me.  If I don't have a large enough influx of new experience, it makes me sad and dry inside.  I'm not the sort to go looking for the wild-and-crazy every other day, but I need to try new stuff now and then.

Those reasons are good.  I'm okay with those things.  But the third reason makes me hesitate, and makes me unhappy.  The fact is, like many other people, I often want to buy something new to patch over emotional holes, so I don't have to feel them.  The fact is, lately I've not been happy, I've been stressed and scared, and I want a distraction from that rather than to have to deal with it.  I want to plant a pretty, nicely-smelling new candle in that space and pretend there's nothing behind it, move along now, nothing to see here.

I don't have much money.  I can't even afford my necessities right now, let alone candles.  It's forcing me to recognize that I have emotional holes, because I can't buy things to pile up in front of them.  It makes me feel the hurt and the fright, and makes some of those things worse, because they have to do with money and lack.

I have no tidy conclusions today.  I don't know what I will do about candles, or about my emotional holes.  This is a story in progress; I haven't found the ending yet.