written: 01/24/2025
published: 03/08/2025
Content warning: Emetophobia
I threw up for the first time in 3 years at 6:27am this morning. I think the last time I threw up was probably around the same time of year, too — although, maybe it was like February, and at like 7:30am. Last time, I was trying to get back into running, which I’ve never really been good at, so I don’t really ever know the best way to approach it. My evil roommate & his parasite had just moved out, so I was feeling a certain kind of freedom, and I do love running when I can. So I decided I’d run down to the edge of the peninsula and back. In hindsight, the pace I kept, and the distance, were way too much for someone just getting back into something. But it was exhilarating. And the view at the top of the hill was worth it. Runner’s High is incredible. Makes you feel like you’re gonna live forever. And so I ran back home, and started to feel a little woozy. I cut through the alley and saw the most beautiful, grotesque tableau. Now, this was the first day the city introduced those purple trash bags, and along this run I had seen the aftermath of seagulls ripping these bags to shreds. It was entertaining to go up the hill and watch people yawn and step out onto their porch to get their paper, only to yell “What the fuck?!” at their exploded, vulnerable trash all over their yard. Trash can be a very intimate thing. I only did a little peeping as I jogged by. Boxes of hair dye and bloody tissues. A dirty green rag of unknown origin. The carcass of a lasagna tupperware that had gone so moldy, so beyond saving. Obviously, I made assumptions about the people living there -- I’m only human. I do love to think about the portrait you can paint of me from my current week’s trash export: tissues, gum wrappers, nail clippings, old envelopes, batteries. Should you throw AA batteries straight in the trash? I never know. But I also have no idea how else to get rid of them.
Sorry, back to the alley by my apartment: as I turned the corner, I realized the dumpster had been ravished. I remember around 20 seagulls swarming this thing, violently throwing purple plastic ribbons through the air. They were all screaming too, this was truly an exciting day for seagull-kind. I dodged their angel wings from smacking me and hopped carefully over rotting leftovers. They did not care. This was a feast for kings and I was clearly not invited. And so I escape the whole ruckus, I get back to my dorm, cool down, and I realize the stench of that dumpster (and the whole city) is really sticking to the inside of my nose. And I also start to realize how hard I really pushed myself. And that high is wearing off rapidly… I find myself already in the bathroom, post-vom, delirious in the corner. Oops. Luckily, my new roommate did not wake up (or if they noticed my dramatic re-entry to the apartment, they never mentioned it), and I cleaned up and went to class.
I didn’t run again until somewhat recently. It was nice, it was in the summer, before it got too hot. I took it slow, but kept a good rhythm. It’s a habit I want to pick up again in the summer, maybe it will help me become a morning person. But this most recent throw up event was because I had a delicious, but unfortunate series of drinks that I was really not prepared to consume impromptu on a Thursday evening. But, no regrets — it was with people I only kind of know, but admire, and was grateful to feel like I’m starting to get to know them better. And I tried desperately to make it to class the next morning but my body begged otherwise. Once again thinking about the portrait that my trash could make of me, I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at what I had just ejected, but maybe it took the shape of my face for a second. I spent a lot of the time with my face touching the cool tile of the wall, though. So hopefully the sun coming through burned in a little silhouette for the next hungover idiot to line up with.
Post-Script: two months later and i’ve thrown up like 4 times this year. 2025 year of vomit? i sure fucking hope not.