A Bag of Vomit

Last Friday, I was an idiot, and now there is a plastic bag full of vomit sitting on my patio. And, I really don’t know what to do about it.

It all started with an early morning drive to the airport to kickoff a 4-day adventure in Latvia. I was traveling solo and going to seek adventure and Baltic culture in a country not many people have heard of. (Yeah, living in Europe can be cool sometimes.)

I parked my car, grabbed my backpack and started walking to the terminal. Then, I stopped. I cursed under my breath and stood dumbfounded for 92 seconds. Next, I got back to my car, drove home and went to bed for three more hours.

Turns out, I was an idiot and I forgot my passport. I didn’t get to have my adventure in Latvia.

But like old people say, when life gives you lemons, throw up.

So, I did.

The next night, a terrible virus/food sickness came upon me so rapidly that I had no time to get to my bathroom. I woke up, leaned over in my bed and I threw up straight into a trashcan for about five solid minutes. Awful.

After basking in the typical post-vomit relief for a minute, I summoned some inner strength to clean up. But, the strength was minimal and I still felt like an idiot. So, I gingerly walked to my patio and simply placed my vomit bag in the far corner. I’d deal with it later, when I felt better.


Well, I didn’t feel better for a while, and now a few days later, the vomit bag sits in the corner of my patio.

I’m rightfully scared to go out there and move it because that’s just disgusting. It definitely reeks and it probably has morphed into a fully bodied organism by now. So, it sits there.


And, I sit here wondering if I really am an idiot.

But please tell me, where do you put a fresh bag of vomit when you live up three flights of stairs, it’s midnight, you’re terribly sick and you’re alone?

Solve that riddle and I’ll buy you a beer.