1...2...3...exhale

I am nauseous. I have to be to work in a little over an hour. I don't wanna go!! What if they hate me?! What if I hate them?! Thier bank smells funny, like old moldy money. I got used to my bank with it's weirdly placed Glade scented oils and discreet candles burning out of customer view...and my wonderful smelling Sweet Pea wallflower that I'm sure I'm not going to be able to use. And what if they think I am weird because I brought my own scissors and rolodex and have a two binders- one, decorated with postcards of Amy Brown fairies, with all of my awards neatly organized inside. And the fat black binder with a raver rainbrow brite sticker slapped on the front, that contains every email and memo and handout containing anything pertaining to my job that I have received in the last three years? I AM WEIRD! eep! I hope they don't think I look like a hippie with my flowy black pants and my bohemian tan flowery shirt. Or I hope they don't discriminate me because I'm younger that all of them and thier new boss. I must go in there and not act like I am intimidated. I'm going to be fine! And if all else fails on my lunch break I now have the option to come home (because it's a one minute drive) and cry my eyes out.