The fucker is back.
He always arrives during the night, and I awaken to find him, unannounced and unwelcome sitting on my shoulder.
There was no sign of him yesterday but then that's part of his devious ways of getting to me. Now he is sitting there sucking the joy out of life, and turning the world black. I don't know how long he'll stay. Maybe he'll fly off in an hour or two. Maybe he'll hang around for a couple of days. The little cunt knows he's not welcome but he ignores my attempts to shift him.
I have things to do today.
But the weight of that bird on by shoulder keeps me pinned down so I can't move.
He loves this time of year. He revels in the gloomy days, the dark evenings and the cold weather. He knows his time is short but he revels in these few months and makes the most of it.
His weight turns everything into an effort. Moving is an effort. Sitting still is an effort. Thinking is an effort.
Even tapping a few keys on a keyboard is a marathon task, but I had the strange thought that writing about him might shame him into going back to that hell-hole from whence he came.
It's worth a try?