I am so sixteen inside

Or maybe it's twelve.  Sometimes, it's hard for me to tell which.

Example:  Not long after arriving in Albany last Wednesday, I had to phone into a podcast show (more on that in another post).  My room wasn't ready yet, and the hotel lobby was too loud for the call, so I asked one of the desk clerks where I might find a quiet space.  He sent me to a lower floor which was, he assured me, "a ghost town."

It was indeed a whole lot of empty space.  No one was in any of its many meeting rooms.

Those rooms had, however, very recently hosted some sort of motivational/organizational meetings.  Flip boards and cork boards and whiteboards sported all sorts of generic terms and sayings.  The room I chose for the call featured this bit of seminar detritus.

After I finished the call, the juvenile me found the board irresistible.  I grabbed a marker, and a few minutes later, I left the room with the board sporting a new message.

I told you:  sixteen, or maybe twelve.