The Peninsula War

"I feel as if my life has become what the Peninsula War was to Napoleon." Kind of cheeky I guess quoting myself, but it is how I have felt the last few weeks or so. I did consider making that the entire post, and leaving my hordes of readers to decipher what I meant by that murky comment. However, since I not exactly sure what I mean by it either, I figure that perhaps writing it out would help. At least that is what my therapist(s) Dr. Kronenbourg and Dr. Duvel say, but who knows how much grasp they have on reality? The fellow above one Louis Suchet was one of the few of Napoleon's military men to come out of the Peninsula with his reputation enhanced. I fear that my war will not enhance, but destroy my (albeit already shaky) reputation. I had this brilliant idea about this analogy last night, but in today's overcast light it does seem much more difficult to put into what passes, for me, coherent thought. Napoleon, he of the excellent love letters to his lady Josephine, I am not. I have not sent legions of my men/minions across the Pyrenees to their doom. Mainly because I do not have legions of minions, nor am I anywhere near the Pyrenees. Legions of minions would be nice, they might be able to deflect, or at least soften the blows that I have taken lately. Granted, some of them are self-inflicted, but the majority are from outside sources. However, all my disasters are, to me at least, just as brutal as Salamanca, Fuentes de Onoro, and Bailén where to the French. Napoleon called his little Spanish adventure "a bleeding ulcer." Well I can feel his pain, here I am two hundred and one years later reliving it for him. Unlike him I have several Dukes of Wellington aligned against me. If one can defeat Napoleon, imagine what several have been, and still are doing to me. It is not pretty, it is not fun, and it is not safe. There is, as far as I can tell, no escape the violence of my ancestors (I can almost trace my family fruit tree back to one of Napoleon's generals) is coming back to haunt me. The bill is due, and I am the one having to write the check. I am quite positive that I am not equal to this task. I can only hope that the flimsy gates that I have erected keep the barbarians at bay long enough to salvage something. I certainly do not expect to be exiled to a nice little island off the coast of Italy as my punishment simply because, to me, that would not BE punishment. The ship of my state has sprung several leaks, and I do believe I will be forced to continue sailing until I sink it. Perhaps I am, like Eeyore, being a touch too gloomy, but at the moment it does not seem that way. I suppose, that at the end of the day, I have little choice but to soldier on, after all, surrender terms have not even been considered. I am not sure my Dukes of Wellington are interested in surrender. I think they may be more of the burn and annihilate types. One in particular has expressed his hatred of me and my kind, and seems to be "in it to win it." There is both good news and bad news concerning this. The bad news is that he has minions, well-placed minions that could, if they choose, crush me like a bug. Hey, I did say it was bad news. The good news is that his publicly expressed hatred of me serves as a sort of a ralllying point, an inspiration to not surrender but to dig in, grit my teeth, and blast away with all my remaining strength. Even better news is that this "Duke" is several years my senior. In a war of attrition this is important. After all his path to the grave is, in theory, shorter than mine, and that might just make all the difference.