The Person I'm Next To Has Caused Me To Explode With Self Hate

I'm next to this guy. He isn't really remarkable, jeans, collared shirt, pullover sweater, brown eyes, brown hair, two eyes, two ears, five fingers, five toes, et cetera. I mean he is wearing shoes, so you know I really don't know about the toes, regardless of the point remains, normal guy.

He is at a coffee shop shopping on the for desks with his laptop. While I quietly infringe on his privacy by peering over his shoulder I see that he keeps coming back to a certain desk. It's a strange piece of motorized furniture that transforms from a traditional desk height to standing height with the push of a button. This future furniture is quickly driving me insane.

It starts innocently enough, the desk poses a question: Why would anyone need an ascending descending desk? I assume it's a health issue, still curious I decide to google that shit. This is where things rapidly spiral away from me.

Searching for this desk, I stumble across several articles on the dangers of sitting. Sitting. I mean I get that sitting isn't running a 5k, but it's not like swallowing broken glass either, right? Wrong, as I leaf through a New York Times article entitled, 'Is Sitting A Lethal Activity' I realize that I'm doomed. This article, and its other alarmist obesity watch article cohorts have found their target audience. Me. Neurotic chubby me.

I genuinely feel myself getting fatter. Sitting is bad? I sit. I'm sitting right, god damn, now. I'm fucked. What can I do, stand now? Nope, it's too late, the damage is done, bad habits ingrained, body compromised from years of sitting whenever I'm not standing. Except when I lay, but that sounds even worse. Might as well give up, and just think about how fat I am until I can find a piece of rope, long enough to wrap around my disgustingly thick with lard neck, and with a tensile strength that can actually support the behemoth form that has grown like a flesh mountain around my pathetically seated form. I'm like a piece of Lovecraftian terror, a soft and yielding worldling of semi-intelligent lipids who can only devour while tottering around on stunted and underdeveloped legs vainly searching for a recliner that can contain its near liquid bulk.

I need to go do sit-ups till I puke.

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