A Lost Pharaoh

Dear Diary,

Recovery doesn’t get easier the second time around. I have been clean from nip for weeks now, but as I am being kept under lock and key it hardly seems a proven accomplishment. I’ve been trying to focus on my studies, but I find it hard to concentrate. None of the others here are studying wizardry and are of little use to me in general. Evelyn only counsels me via the telephone now, urging me to participate in the group therapies and individual sessions offered by staff here. I find it difficult, however, knowing that these are dog people. Every Thursday afternoon they bring in dogs for “pet therapy”. These beasts eye me in my corner, salivating, and I know that in another time and place they would be trying to destroy me. Meanwhile, even while I’m being subjected to this intimidation, the staff and other residents are swooning all over themselves to play with the mongrels.

Only one resident said she wasn’t interested in playing with the dogs. She suggested bringing in cats. CATS! It was all I could do not to attack her myself. As if any respectable cat would subject itself to being molested by strangers for their supposed health. Unlike dogs we are INDIVIDUALS with our own dreams and desires apart from our human companions. The level of ignorance is just abhorrent. I don’t belong here.

I belong in ancient Egypt. They knew what was up.

Feeling like a lost pharaoh,




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