friends and foes
This is the first time I've been able to update since the ever-so-martyred Mr. Black decided to get into a drunken altercation (in a flying motorbike, no less) with a very ill-tempered tree. Let me tell you, I should be given the First Order of Infinite Patience for checking up on the cur. Do you have any idea how bloody monotonous and boring it is to sit in a sick ward? Do you? Well, let me enlighten you.
Number one: it reeks of alcohol and floor wax. A heady combination especially when added with aroma of stale Weasley. Don't ask.
Number two: It is very quiet. Poppy has prided herself on her silence charms, so it really IS a matter of it being so quiet the silence is deafening. I've read in many Muggle self-therapy books that music is the key to healing or whatever such nonsense the "new-agers" subscribe to this month. Unfortunately, any entertainment or distraction that could be had by this method was quickly overruled by Poppy. I was so desperate for anything to listen to that I would have even listened to that Merlin-awful eighties hair metal drivel that Black is so fond of. Let me tell you, that is the definition of a desperate man.
Number three: Reading books only provides so much entertainment. Being an avid bookworm (yes, I do confess a love of the written word), I unfortunately devour books in much the same way that Potter goes through brooms. Well, I decided to read Tolstoy's War in Peace as well as Luo Guanzhong's The Three Kingdoms. These are not novels for the lighthearted. They are very large. Tomes, really. Well, I read them both in a space of 36 hours. When that ran out, I decided that it would be an opportune time to write my autobiography that will be entitled You'll Never Brew Potions in This Castle Again. Catchy, I think.
So, with keeping with my new hobby (besides taking points from other houses), I decided to start writing straight away. And then inspiration fled like the fickle mistress that it is. This is what I have so far:
Day 1: Am reading War and Peace. From his writing style, I'll bet Tolstoy threw one hell of a soiree not to mention that he was probably the very center of his social circle. It is to be expected, of course, since he was a very outgoing and gregarious man. Black is unconscious.
Day 2: Am now reading The Three Kingdoms. Never let it be said that Guanzhong could not write an accurate history if his...well, you get the picture. Meanwhile, Black still unconscious. Feel the inexplicable need to short sheet the bed.
Day 3: Am experiencing the fabled writer's block. While I'm able to string together a litany of invective in my own personal journal, anything that is intended for actual publication is more difficult than I imagined. Black is still out like a light. I wonder if the hand in the warm water trick actually works?
Update: It does work.
I think it could be a best seller. Of course I'd need a clever nom de plume. It's entirely too bad that Severus Rotten is taken. I think I could have pulled that one off. I can't use Severus Bovary either. I'll just have to come up with something else.
So when the man finally awakens, trust Lupin to run down like the melodramatic person that he is. In the meantime, he makes this grandiose proclamation that M. Au Bois Dormant has finally awoken and let the herald angels sing. Surely this is overkill. I, in my infinite show of kindness and benevolence, decide to check on le noir once again. I do this to reaffirm my belief that my potions are absolutely top notch, you see. If Black was walking around and talking around as normal, then my work is done.
Which means, unfortunately, my work is done. For now he moves around instead of staying put, and he talks back now. I think I'm tempted to render him unconscious again. It would certainly add ten years back to my life span.
Number one: it reeks of alcohol and floor wax. A heady combination especially when added with aroma of stale Weasley. Don't ask.
Number two: It is very quiet. Poppy has prided herself on her silence charms, so it really IS a matter of it being so quiet the silence is deafening. I've read in many Muggle self-therapy books that music is the key to healing or whatever such nonsense the "new-agers" subscribe to this month. Unfortunately, any entertainment or distraction that could be had by this method was quickly overruled by Poppy. I was so desperate for anything to listen to that I would have even listened to that Merlin-awful eighties hair metal drivel that Black is so fond of. Let me tell you, that is the definition of a desperate man.
Number three: Reading books only provides so much entertainment. Being an avid bookworm (yes, I do confess a love of the written word), I unfortunately devour books in much the same way that Potter goes through brooms. Well, I decided to read Tolstoy's War in Peace as well as Luo Guanzhong's The Three Kingdoms. These are not novels for the lighthearted. They are very large. Tomes, really. Well, I read them both in a space of 36 hours. When that ran out, I decided that it would be an opportune time to write my autobiography that will be entitled You'll Never Brew Potions in This Castle Again. Catchy, I think.
So, with keeping with my new hobby (besides taking points from other houses), I decided to start writing straight away. And then inspiration fled like the fickle mistress that it is. This is what I have so far:
Day 1: Am reading War and Peace. From his writing style, I'll bet Tolstoy threw one hell of a soiree not to mention that he was probably the very center of his social circle. It is to be expected, of course, since he was a very outgoing and gregarious man. Black is unconscious.
Day 2: Am now reading The Three Kingdoms. Never let it be said that Guanzhong could not write an accurate history if his...well, you get the picture. Meanwhile, Black still unconscious. Feel the inexplicable need to short sheet the bed.
Day 3: Am experiencing the fabled writer's block. While I'm able to string together a litany of invective in my own personal journal, anything that is intended for actual publication is more difficult than I imagined. Black is still out like a light. I wonder if the hand in the warm water trick actually works?
Update: It does work.
I think it could be a best seller. Of course I'd need a clever nom de plume. It's entirely too bad that Severus Rotten is taken. I think I could have pulled that one off. I can't use Severus Bovary either. I'll just have to come up with something else.
So when the man finally awakens, trust Lupin to run down like the melodramatic person that he is. In the meantime, he makes this grandiose proclamation that M. Au Bois Dormant has finally awoken and let the herald angels sing. Surely this is overkill. I, in my infinite show of kindness and benevolence, decide to check on le noir once again. I do this to reaffirm my belief that my potions are absolutely top notch, you see. If Black was walking around and talking around as normal, then my work is done.
Which means, unfortunately, my work is done. For now he moves around instead of staying put, and he talks back now. I think I'm tempted to render him unconscious again. It would certainly add ten years back to my life span.