Oh, it's you again.

I never expect you this time of year, though you come whenever, I know.

I noticed a whiff of sulfur in the air this morning, and something else -- chlorine? I assume that's yours. Nice touch.

Frankly, you've got no right to be spending time with me. We've spent more than enough time together over the years, and yes, I do think I get to have some say in it.

Depression, you sickly bastard, you took some of the best years of my life. The rest belong to me, dammit.

And bringing your foul friend Fear with you is really a step too far.

You weren't invited. Pack up your hairshirt in your carpet bag and get the fuck outta here.