My continuing morbid obsession with the daddy-long-legs

There's a daddy-long-legs in my room. It's not relentlessy bumping into my head, trying to assault my laptop screen, or creating a strobing effect by flying round and round inside my lightshade. At least it's doing me that courtesy. No, instead it's endlessly half falling, half flying up and down a corner of my room, apparently with all the incompetence it can possibly muster. If anything I think that might actually be worse. It's not as if it's even a window that it's banging itself against. It's the intersection of two walls. There is NOT THE SLIGHTEST POINT to what it's doing. God, it's depressing.

I have said many times that I think the daddy-long-legs is the living refutation of the theory of intelligent design (unless God really did create it, in which case he's messing with our heads). Not to mention impossible to pluralise. I now also think it is the living embodiment of futility. And I DO NOT want to be sat here staring at the living embodiment of futility. How's a person supposed to achieve anything worthwhile whilst staring at the living embodiment of futility? How's a person supposed to contemplate the future? How's -

Oh.

I think it may have just dropped dead and fallen down behind my bedside cabinet thing. If anything that might just make it even more the embodiment of futility.

Still, at least I don't have to stare at it now. Bloody things.