I’m sure that none of the information I’m going to give you right now will amuse, inspire or even remotely interest you.
However, we must all start with a beginning and this is mine.
I’m a 40 something year old who at this moment in time is convinced I have something crawling on my lower back. No I mean seriously, I’ve just been outside sweeping dead leaves (as usual feeling a stab of guilt at disturbing any resident ants minding their own business).
Okay I’ve checked myself thoroughly and I’ve settled that it’s paranoia.
Yesterday I spent a great deal of my Sunday nursing a nearly dead bee that I found on our kitchen windowsill. I love bees. I mean, not in an obsessive way. I don’t have a t-shirt about it or anything. But I do love them and I do wish humans could be a bit more like them… like in terms of how organised they are and how they don’t behave like arseholes unless they absolutely have to. The closest I ever got to being Queen bee is when a group of friends nicknamed me Queen Latifah for a few years. That does give you some flavour. But I (double) digress.
So the little bee guy I rescued was super parched and lapped up the sugar water I made him like there was no tomorrow. I took him outside and placed him gently on a dandelion. Unsatisfied that the dandelion was in the shade, I picked it and physically held it to the sun. I figured he would be able to identify his way home that way.
He looked pretty fucked TBH, but at least he was stick hungrily licking up all the sweet goodies with his tongue thing.
After a while my little buddy starting giving himself a good wash. This was progress – we had reached the self care stage or recuperation. We were so bonding right now, I thought as I examined his every move with a warm fuzzy feeling.
After his tongue bath, he squirted something out of his butt on my finger.
He wee’d on me! This the cutest wee I ever saw – literally the size of a pin head – it was a proud moment akin to parental moments where my child had crapped in the toilet. Not that I’m a toilet.
Within about 15 seconds of that he raised his little wings, and hovered briefly, before flying away towards the setting sun. My heart burst a little. I had saved him. Go me.
Fast forward an hour, I shared the Bee Wee video with commentary on my Facebook page. My oldest friend, unimpressed, commented; “It’s a drone fly”.
Okay so back to the beginnings.
This blog is dedicated primarily to people who give a shit about the environment. I call upon my tribe; those in a state of angst about what we’re actually doing. Who consider their actions and want to do better. Who recognise their own hypocrisy every time they fly in a plane, or eat that burger or buy that damned fucking balloon. It is a celebration of intent and action – however small, alongside a commiseration about why things just aren’t… well better.
It’s a cry to the emotionally woke who feel it – How the world is just so shit but just so breathtakingly wonderful at the same time.
If that hasn’t cancelled you out then welcome.
Enjoy the judgy hypocritical rantings on the daily struggle to make the right choices when challenged with the selfish gene. Enjoy the praising and recommendations of good companies pulling their green fingers out, who make my heart sing. Enjoy the inside mind of a crazy unfiltered woman wannabe eco bitch.
Feel free to comment whatever and however, but please, no spam.
March on green warriors.