I swear to the porcelain throne that no one pukes as much as I do. No one, I said. I puke on planes and I puke if I ride in backseats of cars. Surprisingly, I have only puked once after drinking, but I have thrown up on every other intoxicant I have ever tried, except for one. Really. Doing the dishes often makes me dry heave a little.

So, it is no surprise that for no reason at all at 5:30 this morning I awoke to that sickening, familiar feeling and headed straight for the bathroom. I put my face to the cold tile floor and waited. And waited. I could feel the illness rising in my body. After 20 minutes or so I shoved a finger down my throat and got it all over with. After 20 more minutes of gargling, teeth brushing and sitting on the couch in recovery watching the sun come up I went back to bed.

Good thing I find these purple spots I get around my eyes after hurling sort of cute. Tiny, colored freckles. Plus I get to enjoy mint tea and toast, one of my favorite breakfasts, while feeling all hollow and slim. Sick, I know, but there is something kind of calming about being totally empty.

Oh, and listen, I’m not pregnant. The internet always wants me to be pregnant, so don’t even start with that shit, yo.