I excused myself to the ladies room to cry some more. The door swung open and nearly knocked me flat, and as I squeezed my way in and peered into the looking glass, I couldn't recognize that red, wet, splotchy face looking back at me. I miss the days where it was impossible for me to cry, and now I feel like a total ninny. I tried desperately to dry my eyes but toilet paper was a poor solution, and the abrasive paper towels weren't any better.
I gripped both sides of the sink with my little fingers, looked hard into the mirror and in a voice just a bit louder than a whisper, said "Get a hold of yourself, you've got two more term sheets to finish before you can go home."
They showered me with gifts that are supposed to comfort me in my moments of nostalgia, sadness, and fear. I find it rather unfortunate that none of them were neither warm nor cuddly, but those are the kind of gifts you're given when you grow up, I suppose. No more teddy bears and rag dolls. I accepted them with gratitude and a smile, still terrified of failure.