Only Child

It has just occurred to me I will never be an aunty.

It's interesting how much your mind is willing to fill itself up with white noise Netflix T.V. shows, shoulds, coulds, maybes, 'why the fuck didn't yous?' and in the quiet of reflection is when things that actually matter to you hit you over the head--

I'll never have a nephew or niece.
My mother is an incredibly strong woman who had a life before me.
Looking at my estranged fathers facebook page and realizing he's kinda super skeezy.
You see so many sunsets in your lifetime.
I remember how much I've forgotten.
Music brings back sensory memories sometimes so visceral I want to scream.

Only child. I am an only child in the midst of a step-family. I am not lonely but I am alone. Remember when it was the other way around? You cry for the girl who was and you hope for the girl who will be, what about this person who is, right now, in this moment?

How little credit we give to ourselves just as we are.
How little we cry for the person who is, how little we laugh for the beauty of who we are, in this moment.

I've been in school for a week and my mind is more occupied than it was. I had hoped there would be no room for mindlessness.
I was wrong.
And that isn't such a bad thing.
Everything is so connected. Inter-- this that and another thing.
Inter-everything. All so woven together you can't for the sake of your sanity continuously try to make sense of it all. Philosophers writers poets poetry art literary theory homework studying mathematics science beauty language colors light and architecture mountains and concrete landscapes car sounds and screaming wanderers in the night.

And I'm sitting here watching Breaking Bad, realizing I will never be a biological aunty to my non-existent brother or sisters child. It am saddened by this.
It's hard to sleep because I stare at a computer and phone screen too many hours in the day.
I judge what I am doing because I am not fully doing what I am doing.
I am alone, but I am no longer lonely.
I am afraid, but no longer terrified.

We forgive our past selves trespasses, and hope for our future.

We don't give ourselves in this moment enough credit.

Or maybe I'm just trying to not feel so much guilt for how long I spent tuning out of my head today.
I am not sure, but I am okay with not knowing.
I aspire to read more and meander less. I aspire to stretch more and hate my body less. I aspire to play music and listen to music, less.
I blast misogynist rap music while reading my women's studies chapter on the social constructs and outdated binaries of gender.
I read about studying literary theory while numbing my brain with a dramatized show about the drug war.
I write positive affirmations on sticky notes on my wall and call myself cruel names in my head.
We are all fantastically paradoxical creatures.
Maybe the paradoxes of our existence are what grounds the paradox in it's validity. Maybe I've been reading about theory and think I know more than I do.

I don't really know, or care.
I'm just proud of myself for being alone and, finally, not being lonely.