I'm Henry VIII, I am!

Today Rachel and I cut Bram's class (we had a sub anyway) to consume carbohydrates in Union Square and discuss our boyfriends. We all went to St.'s Alp after school and had tea (I discovered the Juliet Special... mmmmm...) and then watched Death Factory, a hilariously bad movie. Harry and I walked a ways with Oona and then went to his house; we got philosophical and emotional (don't really feel like talking/blogging about that, though) and ate dinner and watched part of a Miyazaki movie about a character that he thinks is a lot like me, which was good.

Whew. Got that out of my system. Now I can really blog.

My sister and my dad are skiing in Vermont right now, so it's just my mom and me and an empty ol' house. My mom's in bed right now; I should be, but I read more David Sedaris on the subway and started laughing--howling--right out loud, and now I'm antsy. Everyone on the train just stared at me, but I couldn't stop. I was in a great mood, and my rib cage literally started to ache after a while. It was excellent. I'm at the part in Naked where he's describing Ya-Ya, the Greek grandmother who does all sorts of crazy things like licking the pastor's shoes when they take her to church (in hopes of helping her make friends) and such. It's amazing, and I owe Sharpie a big mug of bubble-tea for lending it to me.

Anyway, I was so excited about the book that I decided to relish it and not read it too quickly; however, the Sedaris-ish mood of the book wouldn't leave me, and I needed entertainment. To sum it up, I reread all nine weeks (!) of my own Blogger archives. And realized that it's gone to pot lately. The last entry was OK, I think, if a bit wordy; but how did my posts go from short, sincere and mildly witty to long and boring? I guess it was the whole 'writer's block' thing. Dammit.

My grammar's not that great, either. I think the internet makes me lazy.

I think I need to find the blogger that I was a month ago and return her to her rightful throne at the head of Dark-Eyed Gypsy. Because she's me. I mean, I'm her. I mean... whatever.

One thing I've noticed is that as I've become progressively more aware of my audience, my blog posts have become successively worse. Dammit. I wish I knew who reads this thing. I tried getting a sitemeter, but the website was cheap and kept saying that nobody had seen this, even though a bunch of comments showed up, so somebody must have visited.

This is more like the blog--and blogger--of Dark-Eyed Gypsy that I know and love. Mmmm. Craziness.

It's too late for this. Too early for this, technically. About 1 AM. Oops.
I'm too sleepy to have good grammar or cater to an audience.

Yesterday, when Harry suggested that I update, I actually said "No, I'm going to wait 'till I get a few more comments on my last post before I update." I'm becoming my own antithesis. I can't believe I even thought of that. I'm going to revert to not caring about the number of comments on my post or what people will think of them, and to posting about what I feel and not what I've done.

I wish I'd gotten to know you seniors better... I've always been too self-conscious around old people (and by 'old people' I mean 'seniors') to get to know you (collective), and now that I know you a bit better, y'all're leaving without me! Tear.

Gah. I have nothing else to say. I want to keep some stuff for myself right now. (Please disregard this post, everyone; I'm tired and nothing makes much sense right now.) Screw this and screw the deep thoughts I was blogging in my head on the way home and screw saving the book for later. I'm going to go read some more. And then sleep a little. Maybe.

...and Veronica is back!

......zzzzzzzzzz......