Bathrooms are safe havens for highly sensitive people. At least, they're often the best and only option we've got at the time. Sometimes it's the only place where you can be alone. If I'm lucky, I'll find one that's not only clean but heaven scented with lavender hand soap and moisturizing lotion. At other times, I've found myself stepping into a room that smells like Satan's underpants.

Surrounded by people, at work, or at a party, or a family reunion, retreating in the bathroom for a few minutes' peace can feel like a salve on burned skin. It's not that I don't like people or having company, but sometimes it can be too much of a good thing. When you're walking around with all of your nerve endings exposed, the mere presence of other people can just feel too much. When there are a lot of people, and they're talking and they're upset or angry or stressed, it's time for me to head for the loo.

Our office is open concept, which I think is intended to instil a sense of community and foster open communication. It does, of course, I just wish there weren't quite so much of it. I can already hear the lights buzzing and my computer humming. I can hear the air conditioning and feel its cold breath whistling down the back of my neck. Ladies who wear high-heeled shoes sound to me like Nazi SS officers, stomping to the photocopier, sending chills up my spine.

There is a young man who sits a few dozen feet away from me who has a habit of scrunching up used papers and stuffing them in his recycling box with the aggression of a redneck crushing a beer can. It literally makes me jump in my seat every time. It's just like the people who drop their teaspoons into their coffee cups with a nerve-shattering rattle instead of simply placing the spoon in the cup.

Back to work. Focus. Climb through emails. Click, click, click. The gentleman in front of me has a nervous habit of scratching at his head when he's perplexed. He's perplexed a lot. Actually, I'd say he was a nervous wreck the way he goes at his scalp like a clam digger. I move my monitor to block my view of him.

I admit I find it difficult to manage the incredible cacophony of fidgeting, scratching, picking, sniffing, sneezing, coughing, nail biting, nose blowing and paper rustling that occurs in a typical office. Of course, I daren't say anything. People would think I was being demanding, bossy, critical, whiny or, God-forbid, too sensitive. Believe me, I've heard it before. Get over it, they say. What's your problem? So I sip my herbal tea and put on my iPod and listen to Classical Interludes with Nature. And when my battery runs out, I know it's time to make a trip back to the bathroom, the highly sensitive person's room, and a few moments of peace.