Bonnie’s Beach 🏖

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

The Choices We Choose…

…all come with a price. The cost of doing business so to speak. The consequences of our inactions are just as consequential as the action itself. Everything comes in threes, right? You’ve heard it before. Celebrity deaths seem to happen in threes even if it’s more like five. Good things come in threes. Bad things come in threes. The Holy Trinity. Three strikes you’re out. Third time’s the charm. So why three? Fuck if I know, but I have a theory.

We may think the smallest number of things we could possibly choose from is two, right? Yes or no. Stay or go. Good or bad. Point A to point B. Left or right. Night or day. The list goes on.

If you are a lover of psychology you know it is all logical. A lover of philosophy understands that not everything can be solved by logic. Assume logically you have to choose A or B. You have to make a choice. You can only choose one or the other. This has always bothered me, and in turn I didn’t do very well in my college psychology class. Philosophy I aced. Go figure. I had been told do just that a good many years ago, and because I chose neither, or refused to choose one of the given options, I was removed from the question group and put to the side. I refused to believe that I had to pick one of two options I didn’t want anything to do with, nor did I think either one was correct. But in doing so and choosing not to choose, I created option C. Option C was not even an option, but I stood my ground. Once I chose not to choose, I opened up a door that in turn created additional “non-choosers.” So at least I had some friends in my refusal group. Woohoo!! We didn’t get to participate with the two groups, but we got to enjoy hanging out and discussing why we ended up in our own little club of outcasts.

And so it seems to go in life with other things. Life is not black and white. Those who truly see that life is full of inexplicable wonders, understand this third option. The trifecta. Life or death. Choose to live, or choose to die. We all know we will never make it out of this life that we know alive, and we also know that just because someone is alive doesn’t mean they are truly living. Even with the dead, do they not still go on living in our hearts, minds, and the energies around us? I’m not just talking about ghosts or things that catch your eye in the mirror as you walk past. If you have ever been still in a place of death, you can sense it. The air is heavy, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, overwhelming sadness seeps into your skin. It’s the same with places of happiness and joy, where the living come together in order to feel good or smile or laugh. I don’t know many people who would choose to go to a comedy show to cry. Just like people who visit cemeteries don’t typically go there to laugh. Even day and night has an option three: an eclipse.

In all honesty I have no idea why this popped into my head to write about. I am obviously procrastinating from doing something else that needs to be done, but I guess it’s better than doing absolutely nothing. Maybe? There are times when I want to write but can’t. There are times I don’t want to write but have to. And there are times when I don’t plan to write but need to and do it while I’m able.

I guess to tie this in with my current life situation, I can choose to move on and live my life to the fullest, or I can choose to live in the past while not being fully present. But neither of those choices sound fulfilling to me in either way. Are we not told to learn from the past? Reflect on the past? Remember the good times? Are we not told to plan for the future? Set life goals? Look ahead? And while doing both of those things we are reminded to be in the now, be present, enjoy today as if there won’t be a tomorrow, because we truly do not know when our time has come to an end. When life makes the decision for us. Even when we are given choices, there’s that third option that comes into play. Sometimes the third option isn’t even ours to choose.

For example, why do we hear about the people who work hard their entire lives but always seam to be beaten down by life? The ones who give everything without question but never seem to get anything back? The strugglers? The givers? The weary? Aren’t we taught that if we work hard, are kind, good people, it will come back to us? Are we missing something? Look at people who seem to have it easy. It’s as if some can dance through life without a care, haven’t worked a hard day in their life, and things are given to them without being asked or even needed. What third option has come into play with these? Seriously though, if you know the secrets to this I’d really like to not have to work until I die. I sorta have a thought on this as well.

Growing up a good Christian girl, I went to private schools, read the Bible, accepted Jesus, went to church, and I asked for forgiveness of my sins. And though I don’t pray as often as others say I should, or go to church even for Easter or Christmas Eve. I swear more than the typical sailor, have a dirtier mind than most would care to admit, and seem to come off as someone who worships trees, and yet I can’t seem to forget all the things I had been brought up to believe. Yes. I believe in God (in a slightly different way). Do I believe the only way to connect with God is through church or being with others of the same belief? No. Does that mean I want to hang out with a bunch of assholes who murder kittens? Absolutely not! But that doesn’t mean I have denounced all the teachings and parables and songs and lessons. The wisdom passed from generation to generation is a guide, a gift, and a warning.

So why the hell am I talking about my spirituality? Because it is my influential third option. Because growing up I was taught that my entire life is already known. My plans have already been laid out. That somehow I still have a choice baffles the shit out of me. That even if I choose either A or B, it doesn’t fucking matter, because C was already chosen for me. I may want to spend the rest of my life with a partner rather than without, but obviously that doesn’t always work out. I don’t know, maybe my plan is to die surrounded by my cats who will eventually get hungry and realize that eyeballs are a delicacy? Maybe I will spend my life with someone only to have them die first? Maybe I will be involved in a head-on collision tomorrow, because someone wasn’t paying attention and had to answer a text and didn’t react in time when they drifted into my lane? I don’t know! The third option is a killer! Or it could be. Yikes!

Call it fate. Call it destiny. Perhaps it’s option C through option infinity? All I know for sure is that I won’t always be given a choice between one thing and another thing. Even the black and white becomes gray. The day can be dark. The night can be bright. I can choose to work until I die in order to continue living my life comfortably. I can choose to be happy or sad, but I gotta tell ya, it’s hard enough choosing to be ok. Being sad is exhausting. Being happy is exhausting. Being present can also be exhausting, but it’s a choice. Look, Yoda may have said do or do not, there is no try, but is that really all there is? I mean, if you don’t try something how do you know you’ll like it or even want to do it? What about practice makes perfect? Isn’t that just a better way of saying you’re trying to be better at what you are doing?

And again we see why I did not do well at all in psychology. I question everything. I learn something about everything I can. I start hundreds of projects and never seem to finish most if any of them. I am trying my best to live my life and pretend believing I am actually trying to live my life. I feel disillusioned. The more I learn, the more I see, the more I know I am not in control of anything. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it does make it more difficult to live life as though I haven’t peeked behind its curtain. There’s no wizard there. There’s no control center where I can push a button and continue dreaming. There’s nothing there but another curtain. And once you peaked through the next curtain, you find another curtain. So you stand there and try to look up and see if maybe there are some curtain rods to count how many more curtains you have to go through, but you can only see the one you’re facing. You look down, believing the light and shadow from beneath the curtain gives a brief hope that there is something behind this one, only to realize the curtains beyond are moving to an eternal breeze, shifting light and shadow, and reinforcing an illusion you so desperately want to believe.

Options A or B or C are all inherently illusions, and life is filled with choices, as we all know. Do you choose to see the magic trick never wanting to know how it’s accomplished, or do you want to know how the magic trick works? Or, for your third option, do you choose to learn how it works but continue living as if you never saw it? That you continue to believe in the wonder and excitement even knowing it isn’t what it seems? The disillusioned are seen as being negative. That knowing how something works or why it works takes the fun and joy out of seeing it work. And all I can think is why wouldn’t you want to learn more? I don’t want to spend my life only learning about one, single thing. How disappointing that would be when there’s nothing else to know. And even though the more I learn the more I see comes into play, it doesn’t make me want to stop learning. It doesn’t make me not want to start yet another project I will most likely never complete. It doesn’t prevent me from adding more and more to my bucket list even when I know I have less and less time to do any of those things.

So I’ll continue living my life neither the good way nor the easy way, but more like whatever option three decides to throw at me. In reality, it isn’t even my choice to begin with, but I can still choose to see what it has in store. Bring it, option three! Let’s see what you got!

-Bonnie

No matter what my option three may end up being, I still stop to smell flowers and to watch butterflies flutter by. I smile at others and open and hold doors. I make my PB&J in two folded-over halves. I pause for those fleeting moments when a deep breath of the air around me and the view before me yearn for me to take them in and enjoy the present, and I am reminded that my choices are all part of how I ended up in that place, regardless that I did not opt for a flat tire to stop me in the middle of nowhere forcing me to stop for a damn second and let go of what I can’t control. Thank you Option C. I am forever grateful for your interference. Good or bad. And whatever is in the middle.

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The Dumbest F*cking Person On The Planet…

…was one of my favorites, and I had started to believe it was true even though I knew, deep within the darkest depths of my soul, it was as far from the truth as one could get.

So what would make me even remotely believe that I was stupid, ugly, fat, worthless, frumpy, you name it (those are just the g-rated ones), over beautiful, intelligent, sexy, amazing, talented, and worth someone’s love? After some self-analysis over the past few months, my eyes opened more and more as I was able to answer that question honestly: me. I’m not at all saying everything was my fault, although that had been the stance I had adopted nearly two years ago, but I am just as much to blame as the person who gave me the poisonous words that I’d ingest willingly over and over again. Rather than building a tolerance, I mentally and emotionally cracked until I was so broken, I couldn’t see past the pieces scattered on the floor, creating a circular void in the center where I once stood. For every compliment there was a polar opposite, and the bad far outweighed the good to the point where my brain refused to believe the compliments held any truth whatsoever.

But here’s the kicker: I allowed it, and I had become someone else. Someone who cowered. Someone who triple guessed every decision. Someone who lived with an anxiety that was never there before. Someone I hated. Someone who wasn’t worth a damn thing. Someone who didn’t deserve to waste the precious ozone we all depend on. Someone who thought that changing who they were in order to make someone else happy would actually work. I mean, who would think that altering one’s behavior in order to please someone else would completely backfire? When the things someone loved about you had become annoying and irritating, you assume that action or behavior should be altered so they’re no longer annoying, right? Right??? Those small acts of love, like kissing someone goodbye as they slept when you were leaving for work or calling just to say hi, became sudden outbursts of anger. So those small gestures disappeared one by one as they only garnered a negative and frightening response. The anger turned into yelling. The yelling turned into some of the harshest things you could hear from someone who was supposed to be your life partner. This was the man I was determined to spend the rest of my life with, and I was determined to a fault. We both were. My tunnel vision hid the truth: that I had changed.

Not that there’s anything wrong with change! We change and adapt and grow as we continue our journey through life. But this wasn’t growth. It was adaptation to survive. It was an alteration made to what made me me, and what someone had loved about me, and I was no longer a priority. My schedule was planned around his. Normal things I had been doing for years now seemed to be in the way of what he wanted and what was expected. My gym schedule had to be altered so I would be home immediately after work to start fixing dinner, and soon my gym time disappeared altogether as work became a priority over my health. Hair appointments had to be scheduled by 2pm to meet the same mandate. The same went with doctors appointments. Meeting my girlfriends once or twice a month to grab some food and margaritas happened less and less, until I would make excuses in order to not go at all. Seeing friends and family became a rare occurrence, as they kept me away from the person who wanted my time, and in order to avoid any backlash at home, I became a coward and found excuse after excuse to not see them much at all. Even when I made plans to go out, because he had plans to go out, I would be guilt tripped, called or texted every hour, informed he would be home at a certain time so we would be able to spend the evening together, only to find that I cut my plans short to go home, and his plans had changed to keep him out later. So there I’d be, at home alone, just me and my cats. This was all gradual. It didn’t happen overnight. In the beginning they were small sacrifices for the man I loved, but over time they began to break me down. I was isolated from the people who loved me and would hermit at home to avoid any conflict. I had become weak and fearful of any fights that might stem from his claim that I was disrespecting him. When I did make the rare plans to venture out my phone was glued to my hip so as not to miss a call or text, because if I didn’t answer or respond fast enough, there would be another tongue lashing over the phone and when I got back home.

It wasn’t just verbal abuse, it became mental abuse. I would be shunned and ignored. The silent treatment with a seething side of anger. It was always about respect, and I seemed to be the one doing all the disrespecting. Never mind the name calling and being hung up on. He believed he was justified, because according to him it was all my fault. I didn’t listen. I didn’t follow directions. I ordered the wrong thing at the drive-thru. I didn’t text a response within five minutes. I didn’t answer my phone. These things would “make him think” is how he put it. I was now a liar and couldn’t be trusted. So my phone had to be with me at all times.

As time went on I no longer found joy in anything I used to do. Hiking and going for walks were out of the question, because what if I lost my phone signal? Having my friends and family stop by the house became uncomfortable for everyone as his irritation that they were there was clearly visible, and I began to make excuses for why they couldn’t come over anymore. I became “busy” and unavailable and always had something else I had to do. He and I would make plans to do something together, but we never seemed to do anything at all. Covid definitely helped in this area, because now there was a valid excuse to not do a damn thing. He would spend his time in the garage while I cleaned the house, and then he’d leave to see his friends only to tell me he’d be back for dinner. Then he would let me know he would be late, but we’d still have dinner. Then that would turn into his just picking up something, because he wasn’t sure when he’d be home, and I would just need to fend for myself. This happened more and more, and I was trained to not expect much in the ways of plans. I isolated myself to the confines of a house I cannot wait to move out of. If the house wasn’t clean, he would make some snide comment to me that I was slacking. If I spent too much time cleaning I’d be told the house was fine, and that he didn’t care if it was clean. If he took out the trash, and I failed to put a new bag in the trash can right away, he would accuse me of playing games and being spiteful. All over a trash bag! Dishes in the sink? Obviously my spiteful way to get him to finally do them. When I’d tell him I just hadn’t gotten to them yet, he would wash half of them, pissed off that he had to do any sort of womanly chore, and then retreat to the garage to shun me for the rest of the evening. More and more, the things I said or did or the misread facial expressions became disrespectful to him, and his mood would 180° in the blink of an eye. So the shunning would again commence. Entire days and weekends where he would avoid me at home and wouldn’t speak to me. I was a prisoner in my own house, always worried, always anxious, always knowing there would be a scolding when he would decide to break his silence. What names would he call me this time? How loud was he going to yell? How hard did he plan on slamming a door? How long was he not going to talk to me again? Who was I going to wake up next to in the morning? Was it going to be Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? I was no longer allowed to contact his family and friends. He no longer accompanied me to family events. We no longer went on dates, and when he said we would, he’d turn it into a couples date with his friends, but then he would end up cancelling. So staying at home doing nothing became our date nights. We used to watch movies together on the weekends. That turned into watching ten minutes of something together until he finished eating what was on his plate to leave me there alone as he went back out to his garage. And these are just some of the small, more pleasant discomforts that became the norm. One time I was yelled at after we went through a drive-thru to get breakfast, and I had asked him if he wanted his sandwich or his hash brown first. I was yelled at and accused of being stupid and not knowing who he was at all. How could I not know he wanted his hash brown first?! I was an idiot. I was dumb. I was useless. I never made that mistake again.

Over the course of a year it became worse. The yelling was louder. The cut downs became cruel and even more hurtful. The more I tried to change who I was to avoid those moments, the more pathetic I became. I was too easy a target, and I took it, and I cried. I would have anxiety attacks at home, while grocery shopping, even picking up dinner, because what if I forgot something? What if I ordered the wrong thing? What if I messed something up or did something wrong? I would try not to cry in public as these thoughts rushed to the forefront of my mind, and the anxiety would build and build. I learned to swallow it down, put on a fake face, and get whatever I needed to get done quickly. I was a coward. I didn’t have the strength to stand up for myself or fight back. I always just let it happen. I let him speak to me as if I was a piece of trash, and he would be sure to tell me I was. I allowed it. So when I finally did begin to fight back and return his words, the intensity increased, but I was tired of just taking it. I was tired of being the bigger person and not stooping to name calling or potentially saying things that can never be taken back. That was a lesson I had learned years before, and I had become very good at keeping my mouth shut, and I absolutely hate fighting, because it doesn’t solve a fucking thing. Words spoken in anger are not words of truth, but if repeated enough they become a lie you believe. They are meant to cut and slice and stab and draw blood, and boy could they. But I was tired of being the one bleeding out every time, and I let my words fly. Saying cruel words even in defense didn’t make me feel better. They made me feel even weaker, because now I was becoming angry. If I wasn’t allowed to cry or be sad anymore I concluded that the only logically, acceptable response was to be angry and mad. That was the response I was always receiving, so why couldn’t I do the same? But I learned anger is very difficult to control. No matter how loud I yelled back or how many cruel things I could shoot back in defense, it would only build and build until I wanted to throw things. I wanted to break things. I want to put my fists through walls. I wanted to scream. I wanted to explode. But I’m not that type of person. I would think of the consequences and keep the anger inside. I became salty and unhappy with everything. My sarcasm and cynicism became relentless. This in turn made him even more angry, and it became a vicious cycle of fights and cut downs and being apart. I turned my anger onto myself in the form of not giving a shit. I would relentlessly pick at my face and body. I stopped giving a shit about what I ate. I would avoid calls from friends or family. I hated my job. I hated my house. I hated my life. Worst of all, I hated me. I believed it was all my fault. If I could just fix me everything would be better, but I didn’t love or even like myself enough to fix anything. I was angry and hurt, and it showed. I looked at photos from two years earlier, and I could no longer recognize the face I saw in the mirror everyday. I had aged. I looked tired, sad, and ugly. The poison was doing its work, and I kept drinking it. Vial after vial, I would drink it all and feel even more empty. Even my not giving a shit was a lie I’d tell myself, because I knew I cared too much. I knew what I was doing to myself. I knew! My self-destructive behavior had more control than I wanted to admit, so I would cry and be angry. I was an absolute mess. If I didn’t love myself, how on earth could I love anyone else? What sort of example was I to my daughter? How could I possibly teach her to love herself and be strong when I was so weak?

The past four months have been extremely difficult. This was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration. Instead it was ripped apart by all this anger, and my anger had become resentment. Once you hit that stage, it’s hard to go back to what was before in order to forgive and trust and love and heal. It is the final boss at the end of the game, and I had come to meet it face to face, and I was destined to lose. The extreme lows were followed by extreme highs. I was exhausted and confused and lost. Any positives were quickly washed out by negatives, to the point that was all I heard and believed anymore. I was trash. I was a stupid bitch, a dumb cow, fat and ugly, a sexual turnoff, a crack whore, frumpy, a dumbass, and I was told to shut the fuck up repeatedly and hung up on. I believed it all at this point. I would try not to cry as this poison was shoved down my throat and into my heart. I was broken. I had no fight left to give, and the poison had me believing that life would be better for everyone if I just wasn’t around anymore. Not that I’d ever actually go through with that at all, but those dark thoughts crept within the shadows of my mind, whispering sweet, sour nothings in my ear, inviting me to play along. As I mentioned in the very beginning, the darkest depths of my soul had something deep within. It was keeping something safe and hidden until I was ready to acknowledge it.

I was ready…

-Bonnie

If you have read all the way to this point, I’m sure you have grasped the situation I am writing about. Only my closest family and friends have been kept in the know of what my life has become over the past couple years, and believe me, they don’t even know the half of it. I only write about it now, because this is a type of therapy for me. It is a form of release and a way to help me reflect and heal myself moving forward. I will not share everything. The moments I do share are lite versions of the worst of it all, but they are enough, and I can only hope that my writing about my own experiences might help someone else. As natural as it is to pick a side, this is not meant to bash my now ex boyfriend. We still love each other. We had hurt each other immensely, and we knew we were toxic for one another, and we would have continued hurting each other if it wasn’t put to a dead stop. Things have been said that will never be forgotten, but now I have the ability to truly grow and find myself again. There’s a girl I knew four years ago. She was in love and happy and radiant, and I am determined to find her again. She may not shine as brightly as she once did, but I’ll pull her back into the light, and I will continue writing about my journey of self-healing and discovery as I learn to love myself again. If you want to leave a comment, all I ask is that it’s a positive one. Please do not bash someone else. This space is mine to share with you, and I need it to be a healing one. 💙

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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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Something Old. A Little Hope…

I am thousands of feet in the air, and all I think about is you.

Hopefully one day sharing my life fully with you.

Hopefully one day you sharing your life fully with me.

And I hope.

And I hope you are wanting to do that.

I hope you are ready, and I hope you are wanting.

I am happy and yet sad. My heart wants to run to you knowing full well it could be suicide.

It could be another past come to claim my future.

It could be destroyed, and yet, it still hopes.

With every ounce of its being.It knows full well it can be crushed.

It can be cracked. It can be forever broken.

But there is always hope.

Like a beam of light that pierces through the vast darkness of pain, stabbing through the black like a dagger.

It itself has hope.

To survive.

To live life fully and completely and without hesitance.

To know love regardless of heartache.

To love completely without reserve.

To give all and want nothing in return.

Hope has its needs, mind you.

But it does not want. It needs hope in return.

It needs love. It needs warmth.

It needs the good.

It needs the bad.

For without the occasional bouts of pain and sadness, can there truly be hope.

Just don’t allow the dark to take over.

Always be aware of the light.

Always choose to love.

Where there is love, there is hope.

There is always.

There is you.

There is me.

There is us.

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Hey stranger…

Been a while.

In fact, it’s been too long since I last took the thought of writing and then actually started typing. It’s too easy to give up after a few sentences these days. Thoughts become jumbled messes. The mind wanders. Feelings drift past. The words get lost. The distractions take over.

The past year has been quite the adventure! One that has flown by far too quickly. My best girlfriend reminded me today that this time last year we were getting ready for a trip to Aspen. It feels like a lifetime ago. Things have changed so much since then, and the people I knew then aren’t really in my life anymore. Friends of convenience is what they became, and it’s a lonely feeling. I no longer do so many of the things I did just a year ago. But, priorities have changed.

Even as I lay in my bed writing this out, I have to force myself to keep at it. My mind feels like it needs to be everywhere at once, and even then it feels boring in a way. Those distractions I mentioned earlier run me ragged, and my mental strength is waning. I’ll be forty this year, and I already feel that I need to start prepping myself against Alzheimer’s and dementia. I’m honestly not even kidding around. This past year I have had what I like to call glitches. There are times I wonder how the hell I remember all that I do, but then there are the times it takes a while for my mind to process questions or recall things or even interpret what someone has said completely wrong. Like I misheard it, and then a couple seconds go by and my brain processes it correctly. It’s frustrating. I can’t find the right words to use at certain times. They’re there. I can see them. But I force myself to use my brain’s old thesaurus to figure out what the damn word should be. The deeper I get into this tonight, the more my brain just wants to quit and stop trying come up with things to say. It’s sad. Something I once loved to do had become quite the challenge.

So with that, I am going to leave you with that terrible jumbled mess but I will attempt writing more tomorrow. It’ll have a much better point. I promise. For now, I am going to drift off to sleep and dream of all the words that never even had a chance. Tomorrow will be better. I hope. 😉

Good night!

-Bonnie 💙

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A Trip To Paris…

Texas!!!!!!!

This week’s trip has me working from Hugo to Idabel, OK. With my coworker living in Paris, TX, that is where I’m hanging my hat for the next couple days. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris! 😂

With me traveling again, I’ve finally convinced myself to get the fuck out of my hotel room (and comfort zone) to explore the towns/cities where I’m staying. I’d heard about the Eiffel Tower in this town, and I had to see it, especially since I probably won’t ever see the real one in my lifetime. As much as I’d love to explore all of Europe and the surrounding countries, I’ll be just as happy to get to see all of the US. There are a lot of places on my travel bucket list, and I have to be realistic, right?! So, I decided to check this thing out, and I wasn’t disappointed! It’s super cute! The bigger perk of checking this thing out was the Red River Valley Veterans Memorial right next to it. It was beautiful! It had presence, and I could feel it. Although when I visit places like that I feel immense sadness. As hard as I try to enjoy the beauty and love of memorials, I can’t help but feel that way, and it takes all I have to not allow myself to fall any deeper. So after perusing the memorial I went back to the Eiffel Tower to cheer back up.

“The Paris, TX Eiffel Tower! Of course it has a red, cowboy hat!!! Why the hell not?!”

At this point I was debating on going back to the hotel (I was stupid tired) or go find something else. When I had searched for the tower I remembered seeing something about a historic site and a fountain. One thing I truly enjoy checking out are historic downtowns. The courthouses at the centers are usually pretty awesome! I searched for Paris’s original town center and headed that way. On my way I passed by a huge cemetery which I plan on checking out while I’m here. I heard there was a monument there that’s an angel with cowboy boots. Only in Texas, right?!

I find the historic downtown, and I gotta admit, it’s pretty cool! Lots of construction going on, old buildings being gutted, road work, etc. it looks like they’re trying to keep it in working order, and there are the usual antique shops, eateries, and randomness. The fountain was dead center to the south of the courthouse. It was pretty and peaceful, and I parked to check it out. It wasn’t anything grand, but I could definitely imagine people hanging out and eating lunch around this thing in warmer weather. I’d totally be eating a sandwich there on my lunch break!

After the fountain I figured I’d sort of drive around and check out some more of the buildings in the area. That is when I came across something I thought was pretty damn awesome!!!!! In the parking lot across from this old, crazy huge and odd looking church, was a community park. One side was a water park for warmer days, and the other side was a park of musical instruments. Now, when I say water park, I’m not talking something huge with slides or anything. It was basically a bunch of holes in the ground for water to come shooting out of at children playing in it. I gotta say that’s pretty fun and nice on a hot day! The music side had a large central set of pipes, surrounded by various xylophones, bells, and drums. All but the drums had attached mallets. Yes! I totally tried them out like I was a six year old! Even the sign for the music park was a xylophone, and of course I had to check that out too!

After feeling like a kid for a few minutes I decided to head back to the hotel. It was beginning to get dark after all, and I was exhausted. I figured I’d found plenty of new stuff to share with everyone, and I hope you enjoy it! It’s funny what you can find when you’re not looking. Seems a bit like life. I can sit in my hotel room longing for something to happen that never will, or I can get off my ass and find the beauty in the random and enjoy it! I hope you like the pictures below! Until next time!

-Bonnie

The RRV Veterans Memorial. This place was incredible!

Underneath the tower was a cool Texas inlay. I had to take a selfie…

The Culbertson Fountain which was dedicated in 1927! Construction on this thing had actually started in 1924, and it took three years to complete!

Harmony Park! Yes! I tried the instruments, and they sound pretty amazing! I’m not sure I want to know what it might sound like when twenty kids are beating on everything though…

Pretty much my view the first day of work this week, but it beats my computer monitors any day!!!!!

Of course I got one with the tower in the background!

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The Traveler…

I was recently asked by a friend if I’d ever thought about being a travel blogger. Well of course I have! Who wouldn’t want to travel the world and share new experiences with everyone who cares to read about them?! I mean, there are plenty of people who either can’t or don’t want to travel, and reading about them is their way to get out there and see what they are unwilling or unable to do. But my answer also brought out the main reasons why I would never pursue being a travel blogger. First off, I am at the point in my life where I wouldn’t even want to put in the type of effort it would take to make enough income to pay my current bills. Secondly, I am happy with the man I am with and where we are in our lives. When we do get to travel, it is for sanity and memories we get to create together.

Those who are close to me have surely noticed my BF does not like social media. He does not want pictures posted of him, and he would appreciate that I don’t really talk about him. Not to say he hasn’t been the reason behind some of my posts. But if anyone looks closely, they’ll notice there are no pictures of him that I post, and he isn’t tagged in anything either. He enjoys and likes to keep his privacy, and I respect that. He has also made me rethink a lot of my own social media content, and my participation has drastically lowered over the past year. Don’t think I don’t want to post pictures of us or declare my undying love for him for all my friends and family to see! I do! But I don’t have to prove anything to anyone that I am in a relationship with someone who lets me be my weird self. Yes. I admit I’m weird. It’s true! And we did recently take a couple of trips together, but I’m not writing to discuss those.

I’ve recently began traveling for work again. I love it and hate it. I love being able to get out of my office! I love being outside! Even when my weather app tells me it’s sunny even though I experienced snow flurries all day. I will happily be out in the heat or the cold and work my ass off. It’s a break from the norm, and it’s a way to keep my sanity. Although I love my normal routine, it’s nice to just break free from time to time and see new places. Even when the places are pretty boring!

Last week I was in Durant, OK. Two weeks before that I was in Oklahoma City, OK. Not really two places I would typically be excited to go to, and I wasn’t. It was for work anyway, and that’s what I focused on. If you haven’t worked with me out in the field, I am one of those people that love to get started early and will work until midnight if necessary. I’m sure a couple of coworkers think I’m crazy that starting the work day at 8am in the field isn’t early enough. But it’s not like I sleep well while I’m out of town anyway. Might as well get to work.

While I was out those two separate weeks, I realized I sorta lost my zeal to get out and experience where I was. It was work and hotel. Work and hotel. Oklahoma City didn’t inspire me to get out and see the sites. Yes. There are a plethora of things to do and see there, but I just couldn’t get motivated to even go out to eat. I mean, I brought my own food to stay on my diet. I’ve done a fair share of eating out and enjoying microbrews, and I just didn’t feel up to it this time around. Nor did I feel like checking out any local attractions. Not even the casinos. I was tempted at one point to stop at one on my drive home and drop a dollar in a spot to say I gambled at such and such casino. But then I thought nah. I’d have to park and walk in and actively take part in said activity. So I passed on that and continued driving.

Then I went to Durant. If you’ve never been there you’re really not missing too much. But maybe I did. The historic downtown had a fun flare to it, and I sorta wish I had gotten out to see it all. There was a pretty fun, artistic side to it, which made it a pretty cool little town. And there were some fun restaurants and bars that I could have stopped in to enjoy. But again, I brought all my own food and kept my work routine. You know the one: work, hotel, work, hotel. You get the point. There was also another big casino on my drive home. Did I stop this time? Nope! It would have entailed too much effort, and I was ready to be home.

Next week I will be back in OK. Our work is taking us through the Southeast corner of the state, and although there may not be a whole lot to see or do, I plan on adventuring this time around. I plan on walking through the small towns I stay in each trip I take up there (it’s not that far of a drive from where I live), and I also plan to write about them. Not that I am planning a side gig as a travel blogger, but just to share the new things that others may never get a chance to see. Who knows what I will find! I can still eat the food I bring and be faithful to the summer body I am trying to get (remember those are made in the winter or so I keep telling myself). Even though I kept myself in a pretty boring routine this past trip, I did stop once for some quick pictures in an alley. Odd place, I know, but as I mentioned earlier, Durant had an artsy side to it. Some of it you wouldn’t even see if you didn’t happen to drive to some off-the-beaten-path locations like we were for work. My first thought was that my daughter would love to see this! Then I thought my BF would think they were cool. Now I am sharing those with you, because I think you would like them too! So enjoy the pictures below, and I will share more from my upcoming trips.

Bonnie 💙

The random back alley in Durant. One block off the main drag, and we just randomly drove by it the first time getting from one location to the next.

The blue morpho is what convinced me to drive back by and get some pictures. It is my favorite butterfly, and I actually have four of them tattooed to represent four amazing women in my life.

Around the corner you could escape to four different places at each painted “window”.

This was a beach volleyball spot across from a Veterans of Foreign Wars building. It even had a place for horseshoes on the right. Thought it would have been an awesome spot to play and enjoy some cold ones if it wasn’t 30° that day.

Just a friendly neighbor checking us out while at work. A beautiful horse that knew I had gotten my phone out and decided to become camera shy. Go figure.

Hotel life in Oklahoma City. Yep! Gotta love those hotel rooms! 😂😂

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The Little Things…

They always make the biggest difference. All those little things. I can talk about all the bad ones, but that’s too easy at this point. It’s the small, sweet, kind things that have the biggest impact. You know, the kind words from friends who know you’re going through a rough patch. The random phone call to let you know someone is thinking about you, just because. Getting the last bite of someone’s dessert, because they know it’s your favorite. The smiles from complete strangers that can brighten your dull day. The wise words of people who have been there and done that. Someone putting your grill together for you while you’re at work and then breaks it in by grilling some steaks for dinner. Someone taking you out for spur of the moment ice cream. All those little things.

When life gets you down, or you’re just sort of blah. It’s like no matter how much shit the universe throws your way, it also seems to know when you need a slight break. When you’re trying your hardest to brighten other’s days, and you could use some brightening of the spirit yourself, it just happens. A funny joke. A funny story. Maybe something you do that makes you laugh at yourself for a second and hope no one else saw it happen. Even just witnessing others do kind things for their friends. All things that make me smile and feel that the world is better because of all of them. Even my own, little world. It needs those kind reassurances that there is happiness and joy and love, especially when it doesn’t feel like it.

There’s always some weirdness in my life, and sometimes it throws me off course. I get off schedule. I get flaky. I hide away in a book with not much to say to anyone. I avoid others. Even the ones I need to have around me. And I know better. I know I should be surrounded by friends and loved ones when I get this way, but for some reason it’s just easier to hide away. Not that I am truly hiding. I guess I am just better at being alone with my thoughts at times. Or maybe I’m better at hermit-ing. I don’t know. I just get blah and disappear.

So thank you to everyone who is patient with me during these periods of hiding. Your kind gestures help pull me out of my funk. You help me heal. And although it may seem like forever, it helps me see the light again and get back to being myself in due time. Those small, sweet bits of light make more difference than you’d ever realize.

So this will be short and sweet and a sort of thank you note. A nod to those who help me find my smile and my self again. To those who know me well enough to know I go through funks when life can drag me down. Don’t ever stop. For my sake, please keep them coming. I love you all. You make my life brighter in the darkest of times.

Keep smiling. It’ll help someone’s day, somewhere, when their life is blah.

-Oceangrrrl 💙

My sweet, little hairball of happiness and joy. She’s my little Sausage buddy. 😍

A place where I found a nice chunk of joy, and where I wish I still was.

Water. A place of peace. The little things…

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I Miss You…

We all miss something or someone or some time or some place or some experience. There’s a hole somewhere. A place that can only be filled with memories or imagination. I know a lot of times I’ll say I miss being a kid. And it’s not that I can’t run around or go climb trees or explore, it’s just that I make excuses that I’m tired, I want to sleep in, that’s private property, I don’t want to get hurt, I don’t have time, my knee is acting iffy, etc. It’s sad that I somehow deny myself those simple, childish joys. I feel the urge to get out and do more, but it’s so nice just relaxing in the hammock with my book or sitting on the back porch with Sausage, whose favorite thing to do is relax:

That’s Sausage. I really need to leash train that little beast so I can drag her around with me in the great outdoors. I’ll let you know if that is even a possibility. 😂

But back to missing things.

So what has brought about this sort of laziness? I miss the never ending curiousness and energy I once had. I think once you get to my age it’s not that you’re old, but it’s more that you’re well aware time is actually pretty short. I’ll be thirty-eight this year, and yeah, I know, to some people that’s not old, that’s very true. I’m not old per se, but I am old enough to understand I’m not young anymore. I’m old enough to understand that life is short, and I need to spend time with the ones I love before time runs out. That also means I understand I have a limited amount of time to try things I’ve never done and enjoy things I love to do. Still, I don’t do them (not all of them anyway). And I know I’ll miss them if I let them slip away.

It is a curious thing to try to understand why these choices are made. It sort of circles back to my post about those super go go go people. It’s like they totally understand time is short and are doing everything they can to fill it. Then there are those people who really just don’t gaf. They let time go by and, well, maybe it doesn’t matter if they don’t care. Maybe that’s just one of the “keys” to getting through life happily (or just getting through it). You either understand and act upon squeezing as much life in as you can, or you go through life not caring so it doesn’t bother you? Am I an in-between-er? Is that even a category? Everything is categorized these days anyway, so I may as well stick a label on it right? But still, missing things. I keep missing my point here and drifting.

Missing things! I miss the youth I used to have. I miss the memory skills I used to have. I miss friends who were toxic to my life, and even though they were toxic, they were still a part of who I have become. I miss the family members in my life who are no longer with me. I miss the freedoms of being a kid and not having to adult. I miss summer vacations with cousins, and just being able to actually go on one. I miss the newness of experiences growing up. I miss you. I miss me.

So here I go with another balance spiel. I keep getting myself stuck in the past at times. I know this doesn’t do me any good. Reminiscing about the past only makes you sad. It makes you long for things that are no longer obtainable. Memories, good or bad, can have a negative affect the more you dwell on them. Even the good memories can make you begin to wish for them again and distract you from experiencing good things right in front of your face. This seems to be a recurring issue with me. Maybe it is with everyone? Maybe some people are just better at jumping back into reality before the past begins to take over their thoughts? Here I go again creating more questions and digging deeper into something without actually fixing it. But maybe that’s what I need to do to be a better me? Maybe this sort of inner reflection is what I need to see me more clearly? To realize that I don’t need to miss who I was? Maybe I need to see past the past, and take joy in who I am becoming? Back in the times that I miss, all those experiences have helped shaped me into me. They helped shape you into you. And do I miss your younger you? Do I miss your not-as-wise-as-you-are-now you? Not at all! So why should I dwell on missing the old me? Well, the younger me, really, but you know what I mean.

Maybe this post can help us both look forward to what we will become. Maybe that’s the key to motivation and living life to the fullest? And maybe you have to take the time to miss the past, because it helps you plan and get excited about the future? Obviously I can’t answer that, but I think I’m pretty good at the introspection part of it all. So, me and balance. Gotta find the balance. Gotta enjoy the now. The past is done. It can’t be changed, and even if it hurts, it’s still there. The past can teach us so many lessons if we choose to learn from it, but it can also rip us apart and drag us down to live it over and over again and miss our now. Our own sort of Hell if you will.

Anyway, I’m rambling. Plus I’ve noticed my posts are sort of boring lately. I keep doing this look inward thing, and I can only imagine how exciting it is to continuously turn the mirror back at myself/yourself whatever. I’ll post something upbeat again soon I promise! It’s almost my mini-me’s 17th (yeah OMG!) birthday, and there are some good time’s ahead! Oh! I got to see the Alamo for the first time and cruise San Antonio’s river walk a little bit this past weekend! Yeah. I know. I live in Texas and hadn’t seen any of that yet. It’s a big state dammit!!! I’ve been pretty blessed to see some other things in my life that many will never see, so I’m just checking off some sites from my to-see list! I’m sure there will be some more San Antonio exploring and some river floating in my near future. Maybe even some peace and quiet and relaxation. I’ll let you know! Til then, ciao!

-Bonnie

Oh yeah! I’m getting more work done on a tattoo piece that I am so looking forward to getting done!!! So excited!!!!!!

Volleyball time with my mini and her bestie! Oh summer days and sunshine!!!!

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Next Time Wind!!!

I love drinking and writing or writing and drinking or whatever. Somehow the creative juices about nothing start flowing, and the magic that has me extra talkative after a couple drinks makes my writing a little “loose-lipped”. So much randomness happens in life, and it’s easy to overlook some of the things that make life laughable at times. Such as me wearing dresses…

Those who know me know I am a fan of shorts (and pants), and that I see dresses and skirts as impractical. Because I mean, seriously, if you wear dental floss undergarments (like me), dresses flying up in the air in the breeze are NOT a good thing! Besides, what’s the point of wearing a skirt/dress if you’re practically wearing shorts already? Maybe it’s just me. Nah! I know I’m not alone on this one! But anyway, last week was a very special occasion. I wore a dress! I know!!! There’s no photographic evidence of this, so it’s hard to believe it’s true. I totally get it. But it DID happen! All fucking day I had to grab my dress, because anyone who has experienced Texas winds knows how relentless they can be. And you know what? Those winds don’t stop until they win. They won. Gotta give the wind credit. Wind=jerk. J-E-R-K! So it kept blowing, and I kept holding my dress down. I would bunch it around me, giving the wind my strongest finger, and I would win another battle. It wasn’t until the end of the evening I had to stop and get some gas. I swear I parked in some sort of wind tunnel, because there was a sudden gust and SWOOSH!!!! There goes my GD dress! Straight up!! My bare ass was visible to the world! So I backed myself up to my car as fast as I could, only able to hold the front down. My bare cheeks pressed against the side of my car, praying no one has seen me in this predicament. It wouldn’t stop! The wind was going to win the war! In what seemed like an eternity I had gathered my dress enough to pull it down to cover my ass. It was a miracle!!! I don’t think anyone saw me, but what an experience that was! Thank you, Universe, for reminding me why I don’t wear skirts/dresses. Ever. So awesome!

So there’s a fun bare-butt-cheeks-in-the-wind story! Hahahahaha!!!! Hope you enjoyed this quickie! I’ll write again soon!!!!!

-Bonnie 💙💙💙💙

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