Drama at the Dursleys
09/11/2018 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
izmeinaIt’s Divali today. But I am way too drained to do any party sorts of things.
There are just too many Dursleyish dramas. Every time I manage to get back on my broomstick and flying again, the vile Vernon Dursley hurls a dozen bludgers at me and then I go crashing to the ground all fallen to pieces. And then he sends in his army of Dementors to finish me off. But not totally. That would be way too much like mercy.
Oh No. He would prefer to keep me as his personal Prometheus. Of course he does not even know any of those stories of ancient Greek Gods and mortals but that does not matter. He has the soul and the mind of a predator. No higher brain and all gut instinct. (Uncannily like a certain real estate developer on steroids who has delusions of being a president. Pity there are so many brown nosed sycophants fuelling this illusion. I had a snarky twitter blitz with one of them this evening. )
It is more fun to watch and wait as I slowly crawl into a corner to put myself back together again.
After curling into a ball and having a grand pity party it eventually gets rather tedious and a bit boring. Before long the broomstick is calling. The temptation becomes irresistible and then he strikes again.
He has even totally derailed the grandest of Nanowrimo plans. What began as a story about a tax clerk looking for a big break to set up her own private detective agency has slowly turned into a sordid tale of a Prodigal Father who rejects his own grown up children in favour of a gold digging hippy only to end up broke, alone and friendless and left begging at the door of his disinherited offspring.
When life hands you lemons, make lemonade!
There are just too many Dursleyish dramas. Every time I manage to get back on my broomstick and flying again, the vile Vernon Dursley hurls a dozen bludgers at me and then I go crashing to the ground all fallen to pieces. And then he sends in his army of Dementors to finish me off. But not totally. That would be way too much like mercy.
Oh No. He would prefer to keep me as his personal Prometheus. Of course he does not even know any of those stories of ancient Greek Gods and mortals but that does not matter. He has the soul and the mind of a predator. No higher brain and all gut instinct. (Uncannily like a certain real estate developer on steroids who has delusions of being a president. Pity there are so many brown nosed sycophants fuelling this illusion. I had a snarky twitter blitz with one of them this evening. )
It is more fun to watch and wait as I slowly crawl into a corner to put myself back together again.
After curling into a ball and having a grand pity party it eventually gets rather tedious and a bit boring. Before long the broomstick is calling. The temptation becomes irresistible and then he strikes again.
He has even totally derailed the grandest of Nanowrimo plans. What began as a story about a tax clerk looking for a big break to set up her own private detective agency has slowly turned into a sordid tale of a Prodigal Father who rejects his own grown up children in favour of a gold digging hippy only to end up broke, alone and friendless and left begging at the door of his disinherited offspring.
When life hands you lemons, make lemonade!
