That is the question when you have a bevy of bees making a hive between your chimney and the wall of your house.

I discovered them by accident, as one often discovers things that are better left undiscovered. I happened to look out my bathroom window and noticed a steady stream of little flying creatures entering and exiting a narrow space between the chimney and the side of the house.

At first, I thought, Oh, how lovely. Bees. Then I thought, Wait a minute. Where exactly are they going? They were disappearing into the wall. This is not the sort of thing you want to see happening to your house.

If they are honeybees, I imagine honey dripping in the walls. I picture a golden river running down the inside of the drywall. Perhaps the house will become a giant honey dispenser. We will have to sell it to a beekeeper.

But I have my doubts that they are honeybees. They look more like yellow jackets, which is considerably less charming. Yellow jackets have nested there before, although never in these amounts. This looks like an entire population has moved in and is now holding meetings.

And I watch them.

One day, I decided to bang on the wall. I don't know what I expected. Perhaps I thought they would politely relocate. Instead, they immediately came swarming onto the bathroom screen. How did they know where to go? How did they know I was there? It was as if the entire colony had received an emergency text alert: INTRUDER IN BATHROOM. SEND EVERYONE. I backed away from the window. I am scared of them.

I am also fascinated by them, which is an unfortunate combination when they have taken up residence inside your house.

Every morning, I look out my bathroom window and observe the traffic. They are incredibly industrious. While I am still standing there in my pajamas, trying to remember why I walked into the bathroom in the first place, they are already hard at work.

Back and forth they go. In and out. No coffee. No checking email. No scrolling through Facebook. No standing in front of the refrigerator wondering what they came in there for. They just get up and get going. I admire that.

They are also remarkably athletic. Have you ever really watched a bee fly? They can hover, dart, turn on a dime, change direction and disappear into a crack barely wide enough to see. They don't seem to need stretching exercises or a gym membership. Their entire existence is one long aerobics class. And they keep busy. This is another quality I aspire to.

Bees do not sit around wondering whether they should start a project, reorganize the project, take a break from the project or watch a video about someone else doing the project. They simply do the project. They also have an enviable sleep schedule. They go to bed at sundown and get up at sunrise. I would like to be a person who does that. Unfortunately, I am more of a "what time is it and why am I still awake?" person. There is, however, one thing about bees that would keep me from choosing beehood in my next incarnation. They cluster together and sleep in a pile. No thank you. I have spent enough of my life trying to get personal space to voluntarily come back as an insect whose idea of bedtime is, "Everybody pile on!"

Imagine reincarnation as a bee. You spend all day flying around, working yourself to exhaustion, and then crawl into bed with 4,000 of your closest relatives. I prefer a little elbow room. So I will continue watching them from my bathroom window, admiring their athleticism, work ethic and dedication to an early bedtime. I may even take a few lessons from them.

Get up with the sun.

Stay busy.

Go to bed when it gets dark.

And don't build your bedroom inside somebody else's house.

That seems like particularly good advice.