A History of Hangovers

Woman vomiting

I recently moved to a new apartment, which is why I haven’t written here since April. The move was tedious, so I’m not going to write about it. What I want to write about instead is my former toilet.

In the chaos of the move, I didn’t think to say goodbye to my toilet. I gave it a perfunctory scrubdown without tenderness or nostalgia and left it without looking back. But after moving in to our new place, it occurred to me that, in parting ways with my old toilet, I had undergone a notable transition. That toilet was the last one I was hungover in. I hope to never know another bowl so intimately. Continue reading