After chatting to the bewildered looking spider for a moment I decided the best cause of action was to release it into the wild, where despite it obviously not wanting to be, our evolutionary feeling of resentment towards unwanted wildlife in the house suggested it should end up.
All I had at my disposal was, unsurprisingly, a coffee mug.
Making sure I had finished the final few drops of life enhancing caffeine, I placed the mug over the spider's dusty grey head and slid an envelope underneath it. Trapped.
The envelope, previously the home of a birthday card from my gran, proved to be a tad too flimsy to lift straight up leading to worries about the spiders potential escape back into the haven of my room. I had to be careful to avoid this, as I did not want a refugee with so many legs to be crawling about me in the night. In fact the only refugee I will accept is the attractive, human sort. Perhaps her dad was a terrorist, maybe she'd dossed him in to the police but it had turned out, as it often does, that they were under his control and now she was in deep water. She can come and stay in my room if she likes.
Anyway.
I picked up the spider containing contraption I had crafted (3 years of creative advertising has come in use) and headed open to my window which I had cleverly opened moments before. I wished the spider well on it's journeys across the country, or more likely, the garden, and released it from its prison.
At least I thought I had.
As mug and envelope flew forwards, still attached to my hands, I expected to see the confused looking body of a spider fly out with them. I expected a little parachute to be ejected from its back and for him to salute me with one of his many legs as he floated carefully down to the ground and his new abode.
I did not see this.
Sure, the chances of the parachute/saluting event actually happening were pretty slim, but I would almost definitely see the spider, right? But no. Cautiously I peered into my mug, surely he was cowered at the bottom away from immediate danger, perhaps plotting a counter attack on myself involving a larger coffee mug and envelope combination, controlled by many spiders all of whom had a vengeance against mankind?
That didn't happen either. There was no massive mug. No massive envelope. No bitter spider army. No spider at all. It had disappeared, gone, vanished. I had definitely seen it go into the mug, hadn't I? That was something that had happened?
Was there ever even a spider there? Had it merely been a vision constructed by my mind, ravished by the confusion and despair created by the stress of having to submit D&AD work and doing little things like worrying about my ENTIRE LIFE?
As much as I felt me and the spider got on at the time I do not wish for his immediate return. If you're out there, if you're reading this on your tiny spider laptop then please, for the foreseeable future, keep yourself to yourself. You'll only make me question my very existence and that's a lot of hassle to have to go through every day.