An injured bird was brought into the office a couple of days ago. It was calm and didn’t put up a struggle when we handled it or moved it from someone’s finger to another person’s hand. To my limited knowledge on fowls, it could be a dazed adult or a trusting young one. While holding it, I half expect it fly at my face and peck out my eyes, Hitchcock style. But it did nothing sinister except stare me down with its black eyes and extend its neck like a crane whenever it was moved up and down. I think the white lines above its eyes were supposed to make it look dangerous. It’s funny how the most delicate things in nature look the most defensive.

There are many things I could write about, but words escape me. Below are pictures depicting my emotional state (somewhat), although rather ambiguously.

Being lovesick is akin to having ulcers. To the people around you, you look alright although a little quieter than usual. Maybe a little gloomy, a bit sulky and somewhat brooding. You don’t feel much like eating and everything tastes like porridge. Bland and colourless. Smiling becomes harder when it stretches your insides in all the aching places. Nothing excites you anymore and your saliva factories have gone defunct. Like a bag of desiccant in an empty shoebox, life is dry and hollow. Things just aren’t the same.

I have two huge ulcers merging into one. In a non-attempt at being random, here’s what you can do when you’re feeling nervous while holding a bottle of beer.