A trip to Kittery? It's not a lung...

So as I wait here at the Reebok outlet, I've realized that now would be a fine time to write in my journal. 'Cause this way, I can stop cringing at my inability to express myself... (Just don't let anyone at Randolph-Macon know about this, 'cause that school prides itself on teaching its graduates to communicate well...and when it comes to you, I tend to be a disappointment to my alma mater.) *grins*

So anyway, have any of you ever babbled on while talking to someone and ended up saying something so stupid-sounding that you had to smack yourself on the forehead? (Thank God, I was using my headset, otherwise that would have been a dangerous combination: one hand smacking myself, one hand holding the cell phone, one hand holding the wheel, and one hand resting on the gear shift...uh oh, I only have two hands...) As you can probably guess, I got stuck in that mode (would have been a great time for a lollipop)...

Now, I was gonna put in here, what I wrote about what I was trying to say, but I feel a little too exposed in this space...so somehow, I'll let you know...I just don't know how yet...

In the end, I'm not keeping score. And this part applies to a good portion of the people reading this. In general, you don't owe me anything. I would do anything for any of you. A ride somewhere, a hug and a smile, a date for Senior Dinner Dance (though no one asked) *pouts*, or even a lung or part of a liver (though for my more drink-lovin' friends, I've only got one liver, so it's first come, first serve when you get cirrosis. After that, I'm tapped out, if you forgive the choice of words. *grins*) All any of you need do is ask, and occasionally, just suggest or even refer to the problem, and I will do anything for you.

And now, all of you are probably thinking, "Oh so that's what the title meant!" I love having slightly obscure titles that I may or may not explain...