You clutch your stomach and hunch forward, squeezing your Swiss rolls of fat while squeezing your eyes shut. And no, you’re not constipated. The pain in your stomach fades slightly and you gently release your fleshy folds, leaning back into your pseudo-office chair, cringing still.
“Seventeen and already I can feel my lack of the necessary nutrients taking a toll on my body,” you sigh, head lolling upwards so that you can stare at the cheese cream ceiling. The sea of white lulls you into a daze before you leap out of it, stating with determination:
“I need to exercise.”