You really confuse me sometimes. Here I am being literary and you simply look at me as though I've cast my final button of sanity into the great blue ocean. But even Truman knew that the ocean had to end somewhere; he was simply lucky enough to find the staircase. So here I am, feet on the dock and not at all ready to walk on water for you. What I don't find myself understanding is why you think this will be a feat that comes easily to all the rest of us. Please tell me where you got a hold of Jesus' sandals; it might make this task a bit easier if I had them too.