oops.

A momentary whim led to my actually reading one of the many pieces of (non-Frank/Gerard - I read almost half of those, sad to say, but generally none of the others) badfic I clicked on yesterday... with the result that now I very much want to read some good (or okay, or hell - how about mediocre?) Mikey/Ray. I fear with very good reason, I think, that there is none to be had, and the only result will be getting past the headers of more badfic. So hopefully that will result in more laughing than headdesking, but I guess we'll see.

Now I'm occupying myself trying to lobby wax for inclusion of Frank/Gerard in Something We Don't Want To Jinx, although we are agreed that random inexplicable background pairings are unacceptable (reluctantly because I still wanted one, though, and who cares about Pete/Mikey? Plenty of other people, plainly, but certainly not me.) and B-plots are more acceptable, but the degree of subtlety required is debatable. "For example, it would be obnoxious," I said, "if Mikey were walking along, thinking about how Gerard told him he had a crush on Frank and also Frank told him he had a crush on Gerard, and he wonders when those two crazy kids are ever going to figure themselves out." She exclaimed in outrage, "Are you confusing me with a badfic writer?"

This isn't who you thought you'd be

I earned all my income in high school in my church's nursery, managing the schedule and other workers and working practically every weekend, and babysitting for the few children I was really fond of (I've always been picky. About pretty much everything, in fact). I'm the third eldest of twelve cousins on my mother's side. I have never been one of those people who doesn't know what to do with babies or children.

My dad's sisters, whom you will have heard me refer to as Crunchy Aunt (Jenny, the mother of Perrin, who had me to live with her for about six months 2003-2004) and Crazy Aunt (Valerie, who married a genial pot-smoking giant and dropped out of graduate school in favour of a string of minimum-wage jobs because she finds them lower stress) are both the kind of person who have no idea what to do with children. I looked forward to seeing them with excitement because, being eccentric, they were cool; but I was shy around them, more or less because they didn't know which end to pick me up from.  I always felt more at home with my mother's sisters, who all had children about my age, and whose houses were comfortable, and who had familiar food around. They weren't as cool, they were more likely to talk down to me and less likely to play with me, and even as a small child I was aware that I could beat them in a logical argiument. But they could substitute for my parents with comfort in a way my paternal aunts never could.

Obviously I always wanted to be like one of them, and not like Crunchy Aunt or Crazy Aunt. Except I think I totally have become the kind of person who has no idea what to do with children. Have I forgotten?

I dote on Carmela, who is a spoiled but articulate and utterly charming little urchin, but she's been stressed the last few months of her mother's pregnancy, I presume, and whiny and pettish and argumentative all the last several times I've seen her. Just looking at her makes me tired. I didn't play with her at all today.