i was at work one evening with nothing to do so i wrote this

sam wasn't nervous.  not exactly.  being nervous implies apprehension about something that's coming up; being nervous therefore requires at least some level of knowledge about what that something would be.

and sam most certainly had none of that.

he had his meticulously-constructed playlist, of course, developed over the course of two hours, despite being only ten songs long and requiring only to occupy the twelve-minute drive from the hotel to the office.  he had his cell phone, recently updated with a new message from alison ("they will love you! i love you! good luck"), and his laptop, and a notebook with a pen in case they weren't the typing type.  he had his favorite dark blue shirt and his favorite tie, steel grey and completely innocuous, which he called his "lucky tie" although it wasn't particularly luckier than any of this other ties, and the black shoes which were just comfortable enough for him to think they made him look quite sensible but still uncomfortable enough to fit in.  he had all his nervous energy--not to be confused with nervousness, remember--and he still had at least 70% of the enthusiasm he had on the night they called and told him to pack up his life and move to chicago, which by his estimation was a pretty good percentage to be at at this point.

none of these things, he thought, really made him ready for whatever it was that was coming, but oh well, the rest was out of his control, and we should all try not to worry about the things we can't help, and no, of course he didn't really believe that.