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.