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Every keystroke felt more important than the previous one, especially rap midi if I could crank out a sentence as fast as I could read it. I rap midi didn't know what I was typing and I didn't care. I could have documented the entire feminist movement on three hard drives without gaining an ounce of respect for women.But my hard work paid off when Ms. Thomas, the crazy Jamaican teacher everyone hated, decided I rap midi was her best student ever. But not only for typing ability. No no. Our 7th grade typing class (probably more advanced than yours), consisted of learning professional skills as well. We wrote sample cover letters, resumes, and thank-you notes, and we even had a mock interview for our fake job with a REAL employer at the end of the year. Apparently, I drafted a cover letter so great, it was still being used 3 years later when my sister went through the same class.And that brings me to my latest "nostalgic find," from some box my mom dug up under my old house: a computer print out of mine, complete with perforation marks around the edges (remember how you used to have to tear printer sheets apart) from October 25, 1993.
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