The Daily Adventures of Taylor Finn! Day 9 – “If nothing else, at least you are consistent with your bullshit”

8/29/2018 – It’s a cloudy mess outside this office window, but even so the August humidity refuses to let up. The heat on the other side of that glass is enough to distort a few inches of air sitting atop the parking lot pavement, burning out the cracks that run through that blacktop, stripping them of their usual collection of weeds, leaving only spotty yellow lines to break up the otherwise charcoal landscape. The dry air is turning my body into glass. My legs, my hands, even my hair feels like it’s turning into uncooked spaghetti. With such a brittle body, it should come as no surprise that this Summer has been another record year for me.

That’s right! This summer I have managed to surpass all of my previous 27 summers of being alive to reach a new level! I’ve finally broken the 200 barrier! I’m in the +200 club! Hooray! I knew all those years ignoring my running shoes and eating nothing but flaming hot Cheetos would eventually earn me this amazing feat of human perseverance!

If you haven’t guessed yet, when I’m talking about reaching the next level, I am referring to the effect of Earth’s gravity on my person. More specifically, I am calculating the impact of the Earth’s gravitational pull in relation to my mass. The result is a number recorded using a unit of weight under the system of imperial units, the preferred system of the United States of America.

What I’m trying to say is, HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS, I WEIGH OVER 200 POUNDS, also known in my family as “a metric fuck ton”.

I’m not surprised, but I want to be surprised. This has been creeping up on me ever since I graduated from college. My life, while not exactly active before, has turned into a game where I see how long I can go without breaking a sweat. I’m stuck in a swivel chair for 8-9 hours in my corner cubicle, where my only movement comes from typing in numbers, clicking on other numbers, and the occasional trip to take a shit while getting paid. It’s the epitome of the American dream, honestly. Heart attacks in my early 40’s and type 2 diabetes, here I come!

But really, I am a solid 205. What the fuck. Why in the fuck do I weigh over 200 pounds? When did I let this fucking happen? That’s rhetorical, as I already explained that above, but I still struggle to comprehend. I know I was letting myself go, but this is a whole other level of giving up. This is being so inactive that I am actively digging myself an early grave.

It’s disgusting.

I’m disgusting.  

I seriously need some change, or the next time I have a mental breakdown, my body will break too, and then it will be to late… or maybe that’s what I really want…to have no way to climb back up… maybe I just want everything permanently…

Break.

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