Dear Mystery Toronto Writing Job,
It's me. Again.
Look, I know you've been avoiding me. You rarely answer my calls, emails, job applications - You must think I should get the hint.
But I just can't help myself. I want you. I CRAVE you.
You. The wonderful creative job in the city. The job that allows me to do what I'm good at; that challenges me, but gives me the creative license that I've never truly known.
The job that will put a smile on my face and give me the ability to move back. To start a new kickass life of independence and happiness. You are my first step.
I realize we've never met, but I already know you're wonderful.
And I simply must have you.
So please. Stop being so coy. Playing hard-to-get is juvenile and beneath you.
We're meant to be. I know it. You know it.
I never give up something I care deeply for; I will always fight for it.
And I always get what I want... eventually.
So just let it happen, Toronto Job. Cuz really... you need me, too.
All my love (well, as much as you can really love a job),
p.s. - Can we also be friends with benefits? I need benefits. Dentists cost a bitchload of money. Thanks.