Bonnie’s Beach 🏖

My Life. My Experiences. My Love. My Words.

Catcher of Rainbows…

I am not a writer.

I am not a painter.

I am not a poet.

I am not an electrician.

I am not a homemaker.

I am not religious.

So what the fuck am I? Besides annoying and sarcastic and hilarious? Probably the only thing I excel at being: a Jack of all trades. I would say Jill, but then people look at me all cockeyed, so it’s just easier being a Jack. Master? Nope! Expert? Absolutely not! Genius? Hahaha! No! Scholar?Most definitely nope! So what am I besides being subpar or good enough to do as many things as I possibly can?

Scatterbrained. Absolutely all over the place. You thought I’d use a better term, right? Believe me, I thought maybe philomath would be a good one to use as an all encompassing umbrella term, but when it is synonymous with scholar and genius, I have to say it’s a hard nope. If you’ve never heard of a philomath before, it’s worth the lookup. In a way it does describe me. You just have to knock its seriousness down about ten rungs to that whole Jack/Jill level. Nothings against the Jacks and Jills of the world, because we keep this world moving.

Wanting to learn everything I possibly can comes with a price. I have learned (yeah, ba da dum, tsss) as I’ve gotten older that my brain does not like to shut off. It has its moments of pure, determined focus, but more often than not, it is attempting to catch rainbows. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I have so many ideas that I can’t seem to recall 90% of them. If I don’t associate your name with something immediately, I will forget it within two minutes of hearing it. If I sit down at a restaurant, and there’s no conversation, I will read everything in range, at least five times, and I will still have to reread the menu to figure out what I want to eat. It is a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse, but it has given me a divine sense of humor that can come out as mean if I don’t watch myself. Which is also odd, because I am actually a nice person. Annoying, yes! Mean, no! But I can be, so don’t be a dick!

I have learned to write everything down so I don’t forget. I also have to remind myself to remember to write it down, because I will forget to do that too. There are so many things I still want to do, see, and experience in my life, that I no longer have a bucket list. I have a CVS receipt over a mile long. In fact, it’s probably hit the two mile mark at this point, but honestly, I don’t remember where it left off. Obviously the list gets longer each year, because I find myself doing things that aren’t even on my list to begin with. Then I add more to that list that I may or may not get to this year. Or next year. Or ever. Eek!

The desire to learn is strong. I do consider myself pretty damn good at figuring things out. I can Google like a champ, and if I can’t find it on the internet, it most likely doesn’t exist. So there’s that. I love puzzles, cryptograms, word searches, and other random, mind-engaging activities. No. I do not like crosswords, chess, or algebraic equations that use Greek alphanumeric characters that have an assigned, mathematical value. Hell nope! When puzzles are associated with math, like the Rubik’s Cube, I’m out. I can add, multiply, figure out angles, and solve for x. Calculators are my friends. Again. Google is my friend. I can get a max of two sides of that damn cube. So I gotta admit that performing at 33.3…% efficiency is sad. Like, really sad.

And yet I must learn more!

But I never seem to want to learn everything about one thing. I just want to learn something about everything. So that whole curse thing happens here: I learn enough to do whatever task is at hand, and then the desire to learn more vanishes once that particular task is complete. I have a minimum of twenty started projects going at the same time, but two new ones are added each time I complete one. I still owe (not really owe, I enjoy giving a lot) multiple Christmas gifts that I am still in the process of making. I put my heart into everything I do and make, and yet my brain likes to travel elsewhere. It is stressful, exhausting, and it takes its toll on my current, physical and mental state. I get tension headaches nearly every day now, and if I don’t get those under control, they evolve into migraines. Those bad boys like to linger a good three days. I want to get so many things done every day that I don’t seem to have time to finish them. That is, if I even find the time to begin.

Everything is fleeting. My writing comes in waves. My desire to paint is like a storm blowing through. I waste time doing absolutely, nothing worthy of said time. When my body wants nothing more than to sleep, because my eyeballs literally hurt, my brain has other plans. Yay! Puzzles!!! That inspiration to get things done, seems to sputter out midway through just writing out my to-do list. I am a mess.

So why am I writing now? Why am I sharing my nightmare of a mental state with you? Why am I sharing with you the things I enjoy starting and never finishing? Yeah. I don’t know either. Maybe it just helps me organize my thoughts a bit. Maybe I have some deep, philosophical urge to let others know they’re not the only crazy people out there. You are not alone. We are not alone. Know why? Because we are all fucking crazy. Seriously. The quicker you learn that the easier life becomes, because no one thinks the exact same way you or I do. At least we are unique in some way. Ok. Not really. We just like to believe that lie we tell ourselves. We are sooooooooo not unique, and the universe is completely indifferent to our measly, blip of an existence. Even knowing all of that, I still want to learn more. Yes. I’m crazy. But at least I admit it.

Keep doing your crazy. I’ll keep doing mine.

Just don’t be a dick about it.

-Bonnie

Yeah. I can write poetry to scare people, and paint one hell of a bear. I can make a grilled cheese that’ll give you a heart attack ten years down the road (I’m trying to shorten that to five by adding even more butter. I think it’s working), and I can organize like a motha fuckah! I can lay waste to a bag of Dove silky, milk chocolates, and I can get my cat Sausage to “do the thing” which involves getting her to rear up on her stocky little ham hock back legs to get more scratches. Yeah. She’s a special one with her own IG account @catsausage. I can also continue writing random shit about myself, because your level of crazy wants to keep reading it. Sucker! I kid! I appreciate you reading my randomness. I really do. I think it’s fun sharing my weirdness, because you can maybe relate to a fraction of it. If not, I at least hope it was entertaining. Go check out my cat’s page. You know you want to. Just do it. Yes. I am pushing my cat now. You’re welcome. 😉

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Nine Lives…

Part III

He watched and he waited
There could be no hesitating
As she made her way home
All alone
Reflexes were ready
Gotta keep those hands steady
Deep breaths in
Deep breaths out
There could be no doubt
The next moves were so perfectly planned
Up the stairs to her floor
Slowly quietly he crept to her door
Getting in was too easy
He still had his key
Funny she never changed the lock
Obviously a sign
(She’s fated to be mine)
Of course he would have such a thought
His knife at the ready
Remember keep those hands steady
Can’t be too quick there needs to be torture
A heart broken like this
Will make a man sick
Revenge is the only known cure
As she remained oblivious
To his insidiousness
His darkness continued to grow
Harder and harder
He couldn’t take it much longer
This bitch has got to go
He lost focus
One quick moment
A split second was all that it took
He tripped over her cat
Which hissed and spat
Alerting it’s dumb clueless owner
Evil had gotten inside
It could no longer hide
She knew her life would soon be over
What she saw surprised her
A blade meant to be inside her
Was sticking up straight through his chest
Her cat sat beside him
Proud and delighted
Watching blood pool and making a mess
Looks like God’s gift
Hadn’t planned for this
For surely he would have known
His dark inner demon
Was no match for a feline
Dumb fuck you should have stayed home

-Bonnie

Though this story has been dramatized These things happen from time to time. Anger and frustration An excuse for justification That murder is the only way to go Think of a wife best friend brother Sister cousin aunt uncle son daughter Could they be dealing with their own stalker I think it could be said No one wants to end up dead Especially at the hands of a lover So check in on your people Good bad (and or evil) It’s time we took care of each other If they say they are fine You know they are lying No one gets away with that Maybe they need a companion Or just some compassion Take them out to go adopt a cat.

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Nine Lives…

Part II

There she was near the window
Stupid slut at the bar
That dress couldn’t be any tighter
Go on get that dick
Twisted and sick
He waited for her by her car
But she never came out
As he figured out
She went home with a one night stand loser
He would teach them a lesson
One special session
You don’t fuck with a man on a mission
He had laid out a plan
It was almost too easy
A child could get away with such murder
There’d be pain and stifled screaming
It’s hard to speak when you’re not breathing
As he’d tighten the rope around her neck
But that wasn’t cruel enough
Scratch that plan ‘cause it sucked
Back to the drawing board away he went
Those days turned to weeks
The details all tweaked
She’ll soon know she should be with a real man
Now it’s time to go find her
And find her he will
This was exciting
An adventure
A thrill
The rush of the hunt
Now where was that cunt
Ah yes
She’s back at the same bar
So simple
So streamlined
Forever she’ll be mine
He thought about saving her head in his freezer
To gaze every day
Upon her lovely face
Santoku paring or cleaver
The tools he already had
Rope was new thanks dad
Plastic sheeting improvised with contractor bags
Making cleanup a breeze
Mother would be oh so pleased
And out with the garbage she’d go
Picked up the next morning
Compacted and dumped in a hole
Her body wouldn’t be missed
Tainted with semen and piss
Because that’s what those whores liked to do
Opening their mouths wide
Letting those pigs cum inside
Granting them a ten second moment of bliss
Stupid sluts should know better
Always being discarded
It’s their own fault every day
Waking up broken hearted

-Bonnie

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Nine Lives…

Part I

I’m going to tell you a story
A man lost
He was down he was lonely
No matter how hard he tried
And he tried every Friday night
It seemed love would always evade him
One night he was down
With no friends to be found
He decided to venture out on his own
That night he saw her
Couldn’t keep his eyes off her
And convinced her to follow him home
For years he kept trying
But she’d always end up crying
He tried over and over again
To bring back her smile
It had been gone quite a while
He was hoping this wasn’t the end
But she always seemed sad
And he always seemed mad
They were like oil and water
The flames would rise higher
Burning raging fires
Until one night he raised his hand
But he didn’t do it
Too late (and he knew it)
The damage had already been done
And that sadness inside her
Rose up through that fire
It took aim and swung
It was a shock they’d admit
How could either do this
Escalating anger ever higher
She was no longer the woman
He had so long adored
She was an animal
The likes he’d never seen before
He took a step back
Ego attacked
It was karma he thought for sure
The sting on his face
As she departed his place
He knew she’d come back to no more
Once a place full of laughter
That long ago happily ever after
Was now a nightmare behind a closed door
The hours turned to days
He was lost in a haze
How could everything go so wrong
It was just he and himself
He didn’t crave anyone else
His sanity fell away to the floor
How could love do this
He wasn’t abusive
That woman was stupid as fuck
He was a prize
God’s greatest gift
Only one woman could have such luck
To be with a man
Of such class and fine taste
She had been spoiled he thought for sure
But if she wouldn’t be with him
No one else would either
He grabbed his jacket to hunt down that whore

-Bonnie

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Lovely Rafters…

Part IV

It’s hard to imagine how things went so sour
It had begun ever so sweetly
Until this the eleventh hour
For a lover of puzzles cryptics and codes
How did she not see
This pattern so bold
She had allowed this to happen
Every single damn time
Sweet whispers of nothings
I me mine
And she asked herself why do I give love so freely
Am I not worthy
Am I just wash rinse repeating
It would seem it was so
Like an ebb and flow
But how would she stop this insane way of living
And not think of rafters
Wounds forever seeping
Being alone brought freedom it’s true
But then you’re alone with yourself and you
Though there always seemed time for family and friends
Nothing split down the middle
No who what where when
Yet why did she yearn for a love never ending
Alone she would heal
Her heart happily mending
The confidence would build
And she’d think she was ready
To go out on the prowl
Drunken nights on the town
To wake up once again
Just her and her bed
Then one night he’d find her and take her back home
She’d fall and fall hard
Stupid woman you should know
She’d ignore the red flags
They’re nothing love can’t conquer
Oh but they would come back to haunt her
Two years three four
She could take it
What’s one five ten more
But those stabs in the back
And the constant attacks
And the lure of the rope from the rafters
The thoughts were so lovely
Pull up a chair it’s time honey
The knot pressing the back of her skull
But she just couldn’t do it
Stupid heart stupid stupid
As she began to slip out of her noose
A leg that had broken
(Just her luck and she knew it)
Gave way with a snap and came loose
Oh you dumb bitch
Tempting fate like this
How did you think this would go
One final gasp vision was fading
(I’d give this slip a five star rating)
Dangling from those rafters all alone

-Bonnie

Please note this is dark and not my true heart Although life is one hell of a teacher. False love is not worth it you don’t deserve this Please go to a counselor or preacher.

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Lovely Rafters…

Part III

So that is the tale
Of a love turned stale
A woman can only take so much abuse
A heart can beat again
Even though it’s been dead
And its murderer left quite the bruise
If he says he’s an asshole believe him
He won’t change no matter how much you cry
Don’t be a stupid witch
Become what he says when he’s pissed
Here’s to you
You delightfully salty dumb spiteful bitch!

-Bonnie

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. When creativity strikes I have to run with it before it fades. Even if I get yelled at for basically hanging out in the bathroom for over an hour with a writing bug! It’s fucking stupid to some people…

I am feeling there might be more to this story.

So you may want to keep an eye out…

May love inspire you through life.

And death…

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Lovely Rafters…

Part II

Now you may think that’s the end of this story
But honestly it wasn’t that gory
Figuratively her heart had stopped beating
It gave up though her mind kept on thinking
Of how many places
And how many faces
Were buried across this great land
Places to hide
No more being alive
Those cruel words buried deep in the sand
As time went on
Those thoughts became strong
What if and how and where
Could it be would it be
Is it even worth it
Ssh quiet here he comes
Stupid woman should run
Though this proved to be quite the struggle
If she ran she would lose
But what could she prove
As her mind full of thoughts started to bubble
No more sadness only red
Tears of heartbreak were dead
Replaced by anger and fury
A rage filled her body
But she still wouldn’t run
She was patient no need to hurry
He would bury himself
With no need for help
Could peace replace hate filled voices
So she smiled and laughed
Her heart free at last
Only he could be blamed for his choices…

-Bonnie

Part III…

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Lovely Rafters…

Part I

(There’s no punctuation for a reason)

I’m going to tell you a story
It’s one that doesn’t end well
And though the closing has now been told
It should be quite obvious she didn’t die old.
This woman’s heart is no longer beating
No more tears, no more pain, no more being
Once overflowing with love and a hope of forever
Her heart turned cold, no more happy ever after
She had been beaten down with hate filled words
Which I’m sure to you sounds ridiculously absurd
Getting stabbed in the back
Always under attack she thought hmm
That rope looks quite nice from those rafters
She wasn’t allowed to speak
By doing so she’d only prove to be weak
When her mouth would open
Desperate cries were silently spoken
And every day left her heart all the more
broken
The wounds to her happiness kept seeping
No suture could remedy this bleeding
She tried being indifferent but cared all too much
She was far too soft for this cruel, hard touch
Spiteful things had been done
Is this how some people loved
She was always to blame
Every argument the same
It was her fault she should feel ashamed
She brought it onto herself
It was “never” someone else
Sometimes love isn’t worth the hell
She had dug her own grave
Shallow, but worked just the same
Covered in dirt
(That’s how graves work)
Her heart was no longer a slave
Those rafters I had mentioned
Were the release from her prison
She was now free to haunt the land
But she only caused grieving
No more smiling, no more singing
All because she loved a man.

-Bonnie

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It’s Happening…

To start off I finally was able to get my hair done after a few weeks of watching my natural color grow out more and more. Let’s just say my natural, ashy light brown does not fit my skin tone or my personality. With the extra 2 1/2 inches came my first officially noticed gray hair. Then came a second one. Yikes! Not like I didn’t know they existed (thank you hair stylist and boyfriend), but as long as my hair remained highlighted, I could pretend they weren’t really there. A win for me!

But this is a milestone year. I will be turning forty in December. And though it’s going to be just another day, and just another year older, I don’t feel forty. I don’t feel old. I look it more and more, and I see the lines and loss of elasticity, but my personality and body don’t feel like they’ve hit that mark yet.

And yet, so it begins.

It’s happening!

What is happening you might ask? Oh, just the “back in my day” stories. It’s not like I haven’t noticed me stating how things used to be or that such and such place used to be open fields or whatever the case may be, but yesterday marked the first time I fully recognized just how blatant it had become. I could no longer ignore my comments of “way back when” were happening more often.

Let’s set the stage, shall we. My regular stylist, who is a few years older than me, was advised by her doctor to take it easy for a couple weeks due to health reasons. Salon let me know I could reschedule with her when she gets back or I could schedule with another stylist. I’m super picky about my hair (it’s my single beauty splurge), but remember those grays were showing, and I didn’t want to see them anymore. So I bit my lip, took the jump to get my long overdue hair into the shop for a tune up, and I went ahead and booked with a stylist I had never met. She was super sweet, a mother of two, and thirty this year. She did an excellent job, btw, but while you allow someone to play with your hair, there’s a lot of time sitting in a chair and coming up with conversation topics.

Mind you I am not super social. The older I get the more I avoid human contact and small talk. I am not a conversationalist unless I know you, and we have reached that level of comfort, although there are some people in the world that are very easy to talk to even when you don’t know their names and end up never running into them again. Imagine ships passing in the night. You know how the line goes. So while I am sitting in the chair with a mask (requirement to be in the salon) covering half my face and blanketed in basically a tarp, I was trying to find worthwhile subject matter we could discuss. It would be even more weird if I just sat there and didn’t say a damn thing. It would be extremely rude if I just whipped out the phone and either kept up with what I could for work or played sudoku nonstop.

The music playing over the speakers was an easy topic. It was horrible, country music neither of us had ever heard before. We couldn’t even figure out who was singing the songs. Not only that, but there was an awful cover of “Heaven Let Your Light Shine Down”, and we were both grateful for that one to end. So music. Music became a topic. Which, of course we had already discussed COVID-19 issues, I just rolled the music into how COVID will affect future concerts. We talked about concerts we had been to. She mentioned she had wished she’d gone to a George Straight concert last year when he was in town. I jump in with “I got to see him at the old Cowboys stadium in Irving for the George Straight Country Music Festival!” So here we go. Setting the stage for the backstory of days long past from my youth. Good Lord. I mention when that concert took place, ‘96 I believe. Holy crap! That was 24 years ago! Then another concert I went to back in ‘97 at the Texas Motor Speedway. It had just been built and basically held two large concerts before even having a race. The first was a country fest. No. I did not go to that one. I did however go to their Rock Fest ‘97!!! Let me tell you! Awesome concert!!!! Bush, No Doubt, Counting Crows, the Nixons, Collective Soul, and more. It was so kick ass!!!

So it may not seem like much to the average reader, but I have now noticed just how much those old stories kick in to create a connection with a younger crowd. The older party explaining how they are still relevant and how their experiences can correlate with the experiences yet to be had by the younger party. The younger party struggling to follow along since they don’t quite realize just how cool that story really is in the mind of the older party. No wonder the youth have a hard time listening to stories about the days of old. No wonder the majority of people I know don’t have a passion for studying history (yes, some of you are crazy for wanting to do that, imo). It’s right up there with telling someone they can’t do something. They’re going to do what they want to do, no matter how much you may try to explain what happened to you and how badly it turned out. It’s allowing them to touch the flame to not want to touch it again. Same with experiences. The older we get, the more we experience, and the more we want to share to keep those memories alive or relevant or teach or inspire. But that younger generation, they want to have their own experiences, and it’s hard to set time aside to hear about someone else’s when you just want to make your own.

With this new “happening“ I now want to hear those stories I didn’t quite appreciate when I was younger. The stories of how my mom had actually gone to a Beatles concert and even experienced Inna Gadda Da Vida. The stories of my dad taking out his metallic blue glitter dune buggy, the same one he would take me and the neighborhood girls out for sno-cones as a little kid on hot, Texas summer evenings. All of those things that get talked about over and over again, but they just went in one ear and right out the other, because they couldn’t be appreciated yet. Now I know.

Now I’m listening.

-Bonnie

And if I have any typos in this thing, I couldn’t care less. I’m typically picky about grammar, but I just don’t have time to fix all those written mistakes when I have so much more listening to do now. 😉

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Encouragement I sent in ‘16

Look, life sucks. It sucks a lot! But even when it’s cold and lonely and looking bleak, and you’re at the point of giving up, don’t forget that you can either stay in the dark or choose to come up into the light. You have the strength to decide whether to continue sinking to the depths where the pressure becomes too much on you, or you can swim as hard as you can up and up where you can finally break the surface for a breath of air. Life is going to continue shitting on you. People will continue to use you. The world will constantly try to break you down into nothing. But there is beauty and joy and peace everywhere. You just have to open your eyes and your heart and your soul to it, otherwise you won’t see it. I know you are strong. People like us are fighters. We struggle to be happy. We battle to make it day to day. I know you can do it. I have the utmost faith in you and your abilities.

I had saved this in my notes from a few years back. Hard to believe it had been kept hidden away for so long. Sometimes these little words of encouragement are worth reading again.

-Bonnie

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