If you could.
If it wouldn’t mean career suicide before stepping over the unemployed threshold.
Would you dare to bare all in your cover letter?
To tell the truth.
The whole truth.
The goddamn ugly brutal truth.
Admit your pitfalls. Your shortcomings and unashamedly boast about your fucking hell-yehs?
Four to five months down the office-track they will know anyway.
They’ll know the real you by then.
I’m about to crack on with finding another job. My freelance position with the local paper is coming to an end. I bloody loved that job. Moist-eyes.
I’m ready to flex that curiosity, and gradually I’m mustering the courage to put my 34-year-old Muma-journo self out there again.
I’m looking for The One.
That chemistry that quenches all of your desires.
Story telling. Creativity. Innovation. Feels.
Yeh. Feels. I’ll take that adjective.
I’m putting my CV together. OK…I’m lying.
I am yet to locate the file on my laptop.
I’m working up to it.
I tweeted. I sent a #journorequest tweet. Amittedly I may need to put slightly more effort into bagging The One.
But the cover letter.
Oh dear sweet cover letter.
The part where you sell yourself. First impressions for your potential boss-person.
The bit where you sing like an Smartie-infused overactive toddler banging on about winding that sod, ‘Bobbin’ up.
What if we told the whole truth…
I like praise. Sorry / not sorry.
Lunch breaks are breaks not just lunch.
Sometimes my kids throw up and need 48 hours from school. At home with a parent.
Lazy people are the epitome of pig-swill, and I have difficulty hiding contempt for them.
Often I’ll work so hard in one hit that when I eventually get up to pee it freaking hurts.
Occasionally I’ll make a coffee – not for the caffeine hit, but to scroll facebook in peace.
I give praise. I genuinely love to shower compliments on just-deserves.
But I’ll question poor decisions. Raise the eyebrows.
I par-take in ‘view-exchange’ and ‘information sharing’. Call me inquisitive.
Periodically enquiries may be made as to ‘which scent I’m wearing’. My answer will be simple. Nit solution.
I cry fairly easily. Ok. I cry shamefully easily, I blame the kids who fought their way from my body. I was once a stoic icon of ice.
Grazing is good. Biscuits. Nuts. Crisps. Crumbs are my sin.
Imagine giving up the whole truth.
What does yours look like?