I think sometimes cubicle life is a lot like being the cat in the famous Shroedinger experiment.

The longer you stay there, the more uncertain you become as to whether or not the existence you have could still be called "living".
Nevertheless, there is a reluctance to take leave of the box, for you are both the cat and the observer. And the horror of discovering that you have been dead is balanced only by the fear that perhaps outside the box is vacuum.
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