I really ought to figure out whether or not I'm keeping this blog alive. ((sigh)) I haven't blogged for more than a week, having mostly moved to Google+.

I still want pancakes. I also don't want to make pancakes. I have extracted a promise from the roommate that if we are both up while the restaurant around the corner is still serving breakfast, we will go out for breakfast. But I suspect that that is unlikely to happen, since we are also both hiding until the third roommate goes out for the day with her dad, and she is still around. (Also, it is entirely possible that he is actually still asleep.) _

It has been ages since I read a book in a day, but I spent most of yesterday lazing on the couch, rather blissed out about the lack of continual running sitcom loop and read Liar. I have just finished. (Reading The Pushcart War in an hour doesn't count at all.)

I really liked this book, but I can honestly say I have NO idea what I think actually happened. I have never met such an unreliable narrator, and for a while there, everything I was reading seemed to have one. (Well, at least everything we read for the Pretentious Novels book club had one. There were at least three in a row.

  _

 I had this dream last night that on Thanksgiving moring, I got up early and I made blackberry pancakes. Like blueberry pancakes, but with blackberries in them, berries all cooked in and delicious. In the dream, I was on edge as it was, since I was spending another odd Thanksgiving with my (soon-to-be-ex)stepdad but not my mom.

And he got all snotty and bratty about his first pancake, which for some reason didn't have any berries in it, and was being an ass about "why would anyone make such normal pancakes? Why don't they have some grit, or why didn't you make crepes?"

And I yelled at him, and told him he should just go away, and do Thanksgiving with someone else.

It was not a particularly pleasant dream, and it has been niggling at me all morning.

 

Also. I want pancakes. _

Last night, rather randomly at dinner, Brianne started on one of her rants about Mark Antony.

And I just lost it. I mean, I knew Brianne had a thing about Mark Antony. I read her Senior Essay, which could have been titled "Why Brutus Was Awesome and Mark Antony Was Stupid." We were roommates for three years, and Rome was on TV (not that we got HBO, but I watched it anyway).

And, it's not as though I have never had random nerdy converations about the history of Rome with a roommate since moving. We just...have less emotionally invested in any of the people, although I sometimes become very Republican. _

 In other news, my upstairs neighbors have, apparently, been screaming all night and I was just awoken by a rather loud thud.

And I think my leg has decided it hates me again. I should probably go to the doctor in the morning. BLAH. I thought I was DONE WITH THIS. _