Thursday, December 6, 2012

This will be your chair

Started working in 1981. They pointed to a chair and said "you'll sit here." Sat down and haven't gotten up since. The ass gets wider the longer it stays seated. No exercise. Just a steady diet of baked goods, salty lunchmeats and candy. That's breakfast, lunch and afternoon snack. Gravity pulls everything down into that office chair. The shoulders hunch over. The gut sags. Age starts at the temples and spreads like a frost. With each new haircut a few more gray locks fall to the floor and that's when it's painfully clear how much time has really passed. Thirty-one years since they offered this chair. At this point only the fear that getting up from it for more than a weekend will free it up for some youngster keeps the chair an appendage near impossible to let go of. What would it mean to be free of it? To stand. To walk. Without a home base, where would there be to be?

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