So I have this job where I sit behind a desk and type a shitload of shit, everyday for a couple hours. Sounds like I’ve given up on my dreams already, right? You’d be incorrect. This is simply financing my dreams, but I guess that’s what every says right up until the point when their soul gets sucked out through their mouth, ear, nose, anus, pores or whatever opening on the body souls are sucked out through. My bet is the anus.
But I digress from a subject I haven’t even begun.
(Read as: Hello my name is Eric. This is a bee)
I’m 19, in college, and I have way too much of my plate. I like English and love television. I like to put whipped cream on my hot chocolate, but have no self-control and end up eating it all right away (the same goes for marshmallows). If procrastination were swimming, I would be the Michael Phelps; but it’s not, so I’m just screwed. I’m quite the baker of cupcakes. I can do a one-handed cartwheel. I can count to ten in sign language and I can go days without sleeping. My favorite word is anachronism, but I’m looking to change that because it doesn’t fit easily into daily conversation. I had my first fish last year and it died within two weeks, which I can only assume means I am less nurturing than I enjoy long walks on the beach. I’m proficient Microsoft Word, Excel, and Powerpoint and can type 70 WPM. Now I’m so embarrassed; you’ve heard so much about me and yet, I don’t know a thing about you.
A working class hero is something to be/If you want to be a hero well just follow me
--Working Class Hero, John Lennon
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