The Princess and the Softball

by jkatejohnston

30 April 2014

Dear Max,

I miss my diary, though I must tell you that my book is nice and long and pretty entertaining to write. It runs through my head a lot of the time, the way my diary used to, giving a hum and purpose to life.

But I must return to my dear diary to report that I have a cyst the size of softball on my left ovary. Isn’t that disgusting? Yet fascinating? Yet revolting? Yet mesmerizing? Maybe I’ll give birth to it.

The doc on the phone asked if I was experiencing any discomfort and I told her I can’t feel a thing. I’ve been palpating my abdomen trying to feel something, any asymmetry would do, and there’s NOTHING. Where even is the fucking thing? As Enzo would say, without the fucking.

The doc asked me if I have a family history of cancer. No. I could have surgery if I wanted. No thanks. So I have to get another sonogram on May 20 (mark your calendars dears) to make sure it’s not getting bigger. Perhaps I should add that I’m not even terribly fat, though I’ll always be a Person of Fatness in my heart, and the fat that I have is mostly in my butt anyway, which is where Teresa suggested the softball may have migrated.

A backlog of Enzo notes:

“We often need lots of home insurance. If Kate farts right now, she’ll blow Duncan right off her lap and through the roof. Make that block insurance.”

*

“My sheer size comes from my American part. My brown eyes and brown skin come from my Chinese part. The round shape of my head—” But that attribute never got attributed. All this comes from The Black Stallion whose beauty, stamina and small head come from his Arabian part and whose sheer size comes from his wild horse part.

I used a Sharpie to make one of Enzo’s toy horses into The Black. When he plays with them he always makes them fight, accompanied by machine gun fire and explosions. It’s occurring to me this moment that he’s never met a horse face to face and doesn’t really know what sounds they make. But I think even if he knew how to whinny, the sound effects would be the same: the sounds of war.

*

“The reason I’ve grown into this hulking monster is because of milk.”

*

“I dreamed there was this person that I was in the clutches of, and I somehow slipped out of its grip, giant head and all.”

 

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