so this is my recent puke story... i hope everyone enjoys it )
4:03pm and my dignity is somewhere between the bar and my bathroom floor
note to self: tequila is not your friend, it’s that chaotic ex who still has your Netflix password
I actually made it home. That’s the win. Keys fought me for a solid minute and I think I apologized to my front door. Shoes kicked off somewhere in the dark. One still by the couch, the other probably eligible for its own lease now.
The Uber ride back was all wind and bad ideas. Window down, city lights smearing past, Drake mumbling through my blown speaker while my stomach started drafting its resignation letter. Four margaritas is “just vibes” until your body files a formal complaint.
It clocked me in the hallway.
One second I’m fine, thinking I’ll just chug water and be a responsible adult. Next second my gut does that elevator-drop thing and I’m doing the world’s least sexy sprint to the bathroom. No running in beat-up Vans after midnight. It’s more like a haunted stagger.
I barely lifted the seat.
Not cinematic. Not “indie film sad boy in the rain.” Just me, forehead on the cold tile, praying to a god I only talk to when I’m sick or my team is losing.
Salt. Lime. Male pride. That “just one more” shot Jake bought at 12:47. The cheap wings I swore tasted “pretty decent” at the time. My ribs tried to exit my body. My eyes watered like I just watched the ending of Marley & Me. Pretty sure I saw my soul leave and come back because it forgot its phone charger.
The sound? Astronomical. My downstairs neighbor probably thinks I’m demolishing the bathroom. There was sweat. There was regret. There was a receipt for $73 in my pocket that I pulled out mid-crisis just to stare at like it personally betrayed me.
After, it’s just silence and the toilet water judging me. I flushed and it sounded louder than the DJ at the bar. Sat there with my back against the tub, shirt clinging to me, hair a mess, Spotify still bleeding “Mr. Brightside” from my hoodie pocket because the universe has a sense of humor.
Dragged myself to the sink. Drank tap water like I’d been lost in the desert for 40 years. Splashed my face till I looked less “walk of shame” and more “guy who might have his life together.” Checked my phone. I texted my ex “u up?” at 2:11am. She said “don’t.” Fair.
Now I’m in bed. Hoodie I’ve had since sophomore year. Mouth tastes like a dive bar mop bucket. Fairy lights my roommate put up are flickering like they’re disappointed in me too.
The bar definitely won the afternoon
But I made it home, and the room finally stopped spinning.
So I guess I won the night.