They adore me. I run my hand through my hair and find a head covered with ticks. Ticks are crawling on my legs. Ticks on my stomach. They come from everywhere just to honor their host.
Ticks run from miles away in the woods just to hitch a ride on their idol.
Every day I find ticks every place a tick manages to crawl, which is pretty much the entire distance between my head and toes. They come in faithful procession, even after I stay indoors for a couple of days. Ticks which crawled onto my shoes on Tuesday turn up as passengers in my truck on Thursday, having decided to prolong my misery. My life is a continual exercise of twisting in front of the mirror, tilting my head, trying to see places I've never seen before, which is where the blood-sucking abominations prefer to eat. They glare at me in restaurants.