Everyone's favorite crayon

This month I have been matronly, sick-as-a-dog, a saga, and a little sister, the last being quite a feat seeing as how I'm the oldest of five. Tonight I am just tired. Last night I pulled my first all-nighter of the semester, managing to write an eleven page paper, watch Finding Forrester, eat my weight in potatoes, and cut myself shaving, all within a twelve hour period. I finally crashed for a whole hour around 5:31 only to be woken up by my dear sweet roommate at 6:30 with the reminder that if I didn't get up, not only would I not finish my paper, but I would probably be the last to shower. This last was enough to get me off the couch and into the shower where I enjoyed less than five minutes of hot water before the stupid thing went ice cold. Fact: there are few things in this world I hate more than cold showers (although HMP could probably name two of them). I'm afraid this unfortunate event culminated with me stomping in the shower and cursing at my roommates as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair.
The result of this thrilling day and a day and a day was that HMP walked up to me before my 12:05 class and asked if I was still on cold medications. Nope, ladies and gentlemen (are you gentlemen?), I am not. I now have another reason not to be lucid and to post long rambling blogs for my own entertainment.
Anyway, I am posting to (1) acknowledge that I survived and will survive (no singing please) and (2) respond to something HMP said on his blog, about people being those who ask questions or those who answer.
This month I've also been "cute, thoughtful, and quiet." I believe that's a direct quote. I'm not the type of person to ask questions unless I feel that they are necessary. And they're only necessary if you can't make a connection or need to know unknown information--as Forrester puts it, a soup question. And I'm afraid I'm proud enough to assume that if I don't know it right away, it's stored somewhere in my brain and there is no need for me to ask a question. While this sometimes results in embarrassingly after the fact questions, I usually do figure out an answer. Or I just don't care.
At the same time, I don't seek to enter every argument. Last Saturday I sat stirring marshmallows into my hot chocolate as HMP and my roommate discussed. . . something. I remember thinking about my opinion regarding whatever it was, but I didn't feel like voicing my opinion at that time and I didn't. When HMP and I eventually headed back to his place so he rescue his roommate from the grasp of some evil female (or so his roommate could rescue him from the grasp of some evil female. . . ), we started on a completely different topic. And once again, I wasn't saying much.
Because I don't seem to be fitting into the binary, I propose a triptych (I love that word). The third is, well, whatever I am. The listener, the describer, the analyzer. The person who sits back and doesn't answer until there is something whole.
Now, that being said or at least written, can anyone tell me why I pronounce crayon "crown"? My roommates thought I was on a hunt for some tiaras the other day. Terribly funny. If you were there, that is.