dreams: September 02, 1998
I'm in Mom's kitchen. There are a number of desserts sitting on the counter and in the refrigerator. I see brownies and a wide range of different brown and blonde dessert bars with various chocolate chips. We are eating all of them. Mom is calling Lisa at the hospital. I'm about to give my report, but I'm waiting out of courtesy while everyone else gets an extra dessert. Mom keeps complaining about her age (which she claims is 41), saying she knows she's getting discrimination because she's much older than everyone else. She's whining, which is really starting to get on my nerves. She ironically sounds much more juvenile than anyone in the room. There is a cool contraption on the fridge door that flings brownies out for people to catch; Phoebe made it. Everyone here is in denial of being a sugar addict, but nobody can get enough dessert. I'm trying to organize my information for the report. I'm reading some stats. One gives me the number of Internet users visiting a particular WWW site on my topic. The number is 110,000,000 or something similar, yet I can't figure out how to say the number (million? thousand?). Mom is getting mad, ordering me to start.
- FIN -
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