She looked at the words. They were good words. Strong words. Words that could move mountains. She had done good work writing them. They were everything required of the situation. Were she to stop writing at this very instant and press send, the chances of her getting the job would be non-zero. Ridiculously non-zero

Problem was, she did not want the job. Not really. She wanted to be able to say that she had applied for the job, possibly even been a contender, but actually getting it would ruin oh so many plans. Thus, she began the process of making her words more and more unrelatable, such that that non-success would be all but guaranteed

It was a nightmare. She could tell it was a nightmare, because she’d had it before. It was one of those repeat performances that caused psychologists to suspect there might be something going on. The worst of it, though, was that it was a low-budget nightmare. Like when a movie becomes unexpectedly successful and a sequel is conjured into being with significantly smaller funding than its predecessor. The Terror from the original nightmare never materialized. Instead, the characters simply stood around and talked about how awful it would be if the Terror returned. The decor may or may not be someone’s actual living room, temporarily repurposed for cinematic effect. All in all, she could not decide if this made the nightmare better or worse