Dear Diary, it’s Me, Tutankhamun. What a night! I woke up in a sweat. For one awful minute I thought it was the Great Sickness come to carry me off to the Afterlife. Which would be a disaster, especially since I haven’t picked any books for the journey yet. After that I couldn’t get back to sleep for ages. I counted pyramid workers for a while but I couldn’t stop worrying. I meet my new wife tomorrow. What if she doesn’t like me? Maybe she won’t be able to stand having my children. My advisor Nunn said I should stop worrying. He said that as the Living Image of the Sun God, there isn’t a girl in Giza who wouldn’t jump at the chance. I’m not so sure. Those Valley girls can be fussy and my acne only seems to get worse.
It’s all gone sour in Giza.
Disaster! I had the ceremony for my new wife today. I was hoping Nunn might have looked further afield than the palace, but no chance. He kept winking at me all morning, until I had to tell him to stop it or I’d be forced to consider it a slight and condemn him to build me a pyramid. That put a halt to his chariot – but only until the first blare of the trumpets rang out in the Great Hall and he entered. Leading my sister by the hand. My sister! I mean! I looked around the court that obviously hates me and thinks I’m a complete loser. She was such a safe bet, they know my sister can’t turn me down. To be fair, she didn’t look too happy about the whole scenario but I can’t say I blame her. Our old wet nurse was there, swinging in a corner and smelling of drink while she wailed about how it only seemed like yesterday since she took us on picnics to the Valley when Little Tut would lurch his lunch all over the sand. Wretched woman. Some things really should only be kept in the family.
“At least I don’t have to take on another mother-in-law.”
So now I’m married. It doesn’t feel much different to be honest. My wife/sister and I had a bitch scrap for old times’ sake but from now on we’ll have to restrict ourselves to having babies. Borrrring. And I cannot believe no-one picked up on the hints I’ve been dropping for, like a year, about that pyramid builder’s foxy daughter.
I am so cheesed off right now.
Today I went on a trip to the Valley to oversee the latest pyramid construction. It’s too hot there, so I always pretend to be asleep so I don’t have to get out of the sedan. I’d never admit it to anyone else, but I’m not sure I see the point of the pyramids. They just seem like a colossal waste of space to me. I was just taking some me-time when Nunn started shouting his mouth off to the Chief Engineer about how I’d like to see the inside of the pyramid, especially now the murals have been finished. He knows I am claustrophobic! I tried giving him my imperial stare which I’ve been practising lately especially for moments like this, but I’ve only ever managed to hold it for four seconds before something gets in my eye and I have to blink. Before you could say “necropolis” I was being carried over to the doorway and then there was nothing for it but to go in. I was so right about those things. They smell terrible inside and I’m not so sure that they’re the entrance to the Afterlife. Surely if there was another way out some fresh air would get in somehow? The murals on the wall don’t look anything like me either. I am far more distinguished. I think. They should have used the Sphinx team. She looks exactly like my great grandmother. I congratulated the artist though. He cried with relief and it got a bit uncomfortable then. The chamber was very small and he was seriously in my face. Any closer and I’d have had to make an example of him, just to show Nunn who’s Boss. So I beat a hasty retreat to my sedan. The workers all cheered and begged me to come again soon. Over my dead body!
“I’ve got her nose…I think.”
All that business with the pyramid got me thinking about my legacy. What if the only thing people remember about me when I’m gone is my collection of scarab beetle drawings? I mean, I know they’re good and all, but sometimes I get the feeling that people might be only saying that because they’re afraid I might have them thrown from the Sphinx. How can I ever really be sure that I’ve achieving my true potential? I went to talk to Nunn about it and asked him what he thinks the legend over my tomb will say. He looked really edgy and his eyes starting doing that furtive thing that I hate. When I pressed him with a threat of ex-communication from the court, he told me that he predicts great things for me in the Afterlife. What a dung-beetle he is! I told him I was very unhappy with his analysis. He asked me if I wanted to visit the pyramids again. Life is so unfair.
“Ok, who here speaks hieroglyphic?”
Nunn is being very annoying. Ever since he had this idea that we should change back to the old religion, he creeps into my bedroom every morning and draws the curtains at first light. He thinks I should be the first to welcome the sun to the world and he reserved the entire eastern side of the Palace for my rooms before I was born. I am considering moving to a new bedroom. And being the first to welcome Nunn to the pecky little chamber in the smallest pyramid in the darkest spot of Giza that I have reserved for him.
“Good morning sunshine…or maybe go away?”
People think being King is so easy. But I am wracked with indecision about every tiny thing. Like today, when I couldn’t decide whether to be carried to the Nile in my sedan or whether I should just sit on my balcony and have the water brought up to me in small finger bowls until a bath can be filled. (Some people think the finger bowl method cuts down on wrinkles).
And I don’t think this obsession with death is healthy. My recurring dream these days is one where I’m trapped in a canobic jar while Nunn stands over me, trying to find the stopper that fits. I’m beating on the jar with my fists but they’re shriveling all the time and soon I can only make little tinny noises that my armies will never hear. What does this mean? Is it time to start a war? Would Nunn know? If I tell him, will I have to kill him?
Eenie, meanie, mynie, mo….
I am so confused. If only I had not dropped out of school to become King. Sometimes I feel as helpless as a baby. I think I’m losing my hair and I can’t even do my own eye make-up. I’d better go. Nunn has arranged some entertainment for this evening. Nineteen hundred dancers are arriving from Kadesh and I have to play host. I don’t much enjoy these things but Nunn says we have to keep the Hittites sweet. At least until I work out how to read a map.
“Goodnight Dear Diary.”