Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

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…


Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

It’s dark before 6, and these blinds block all light from the streetlights below, but I’m still holding onto the edge, buoyed by this tiny light slipping out from my lampshade.

Slip past the guards, the listless bodies thrown haphazardly across any surface this apartment can provide. Open the gates, mindful of the squeaking hinges, remaining a shadow until the door is in the past. Do not linger, for that is how regrets are formed, and you have no strength left to fight another losing battle. So for now walk it off, stretch out your mind in those rainy skies, feel the pressure of the autumn storm, a gentle touch compared to the enormity of your disdain for your own presence. You are trapped within your skin, so the scars all make perfect sense, in your own corner of the world. For now, just breathe; don’t start running until you are quite sure you are ready to finish this race, because once you start it can only end 1 of 2 ways – you win, or you lose. Some people will argue that just finishing the race is all that matters, but that’s the most ignorant bullshit you will ever hear. It’s completely self-serving and devoid of real meaning in the face of the journey – the destination is the same for us all, so the only thing that does matter is how we run our own races. So the choice is clear, and the shortcuts are right there; every New York City Skyscraper, the kitchen counter-tops of cooking enthusiasts, rows and rows of sweet relief lining store shelves, so brightly lit and inviting. Take a break, you’ve earned a rest, but don’t linger, don’t give yourself the chance to second guess a solid decision; the evidence speaks for itself, and these scars scream out the verdict, “Guilty Guilty GUILTY!” Give yourself the short rest required to build up the stamina, then it’s off to the races. Again, it doesn’t matter how you get there, just so long as you get there quickly, so please…let me get there quickly…