I have four Oreo's, an incentive, I need to study. Melissa Etheridge is screaming at me. Now I have three. The French revolution is of very little interest to me on a Sunday afternoon, or a Monday morning. The past does not interest me. I'd rather think about Oreo's, the black cookie part leaves it's crumbs on my teeth and my lips. The cream part sticks to my tongue and tastes fake, but delicious. My C.A.L.M. homework asked me "What makes you the same as everyone else?" I answered that I am like everyone else because I would keep the cream side of the Oreofor myself. I think that says a lot about me.

I saw Dylan at the mall today. Black lips-long black hair-long black coat Dylan. He was playing a Djembe in a store I was in. I whispered to my mother that he wears black lipstick to school and the girls are scared of him. On Sundays he goes to the mall and asks permission to play the drums and he wears a jean jacket and hiking boots. I like him. He is original. People think he's scary because he wears studded wrist bands and long black jackets and black lipstick. He's not. On Sundays he's not killing kittens, he's playing drums at Sunridge mall.

Now I have two...