Cover Letter (aka: selling oneself to the employment machine)

To whom it may concern:

My name is Brittni and I am a university student looking for summer employment.

I came across your advertisement on the Internet and was interested in applying for [insert postion here].  I would be a good [insert worker title here] for many reasons: I have experience in the [insert job field here] and I am an attentive learner.  I am a good listener and approach tasks with a positive and creative attitude.  My past employers would agree that I am a dedicated worker who is always looking for more tasks to do; however, I am attentive to the needs of others.  I am well-versed in Shakespeare, Bob Dylan, and the Bible.  I often dress in clashing patterns and/or colours, and I want to get a mohawk, but not til I'm sixty, so no need to worry over me wrecking your pristine [insert company name here] image.  When I grow up I want to be a musician or a writer, meaning I'll probably be poor; so I'd really appreciate it if you hired me so I could prepare for that as far in advance as possible.

Thank you for your time and your consideration of my application.

Sincerely,

Brittni

Home Thoughts

I should really post something.

I've been back from university a few days now, and apart from my room exploding along a growing sense of the approach of death, I have no excuse for neglecting this little corner of my life.

I should explain. The car was so packed on the way home from dorm, I resolved to downsize on a grand scale. This resulted in a mass pouring out and pulling up the bits and pieces that had accumulated in my drawers and on my tabletops the past few years.  My room was a jungle, and since it has no door, my Mom had to look at it every time she wanted to get something from downstairs.  After many hours of toil I can see bits of the floor emerging in a rose cleanliness, and it feels fulfilling.  The explosion has been dealt with.

On the other hand, this sense of death - I had a dream the other night where a man told me that as long as I had lived, that was one year over half of the life I had been given.  I'm pretty sure I dreamed this because I've been thinking about life and death lately.  And I've had fearful moments of listening to the void that says my life has no purpose.  I don't know how atheists do it: I mean, if I didn't believe in God, my life would have no meaning and I would live in constant fear.  Death is real.  It's going to happen.  Maybe I shouldn't be thinking this at my age, but how could I not?  My comfort is that I have a Saviour who conquered Death with a capital 'D': eternity is in Him, and there is Life in Him.  That's all I need.

Home. It's a relief to have time to write again.  I'm working on a short story for a scholarship and started a song yesterday about my one track mind.  Research for my capstone next year on Dostoevsky is starting with Crime and Punishment.  I'm signed up for a slo-pitch league and still have no job.  Not worried though, I know something'll work out.  "Somehow it always does".