One of my fans

Back a few days, one little lady asked me a querstion about the end of the world and shootin' that rocket ship down, or whatever it was that was going to blow us to smithereens. Well, today she done wrote me to say she got accepted to a big ol' school and is going to get her master's degree in psychology. I think that's fuckin' fantastic, and lemme tell ya why. Cause when I was a little girl, most of us didn't go to no school. I picked cotton from the time I could walk, and when I was old enough to dance a little, I moved to New York to dance on that fancy team at Radio City Music Hall. I never did finish my studyin', which is why you might find some errors in my writin' and spellin'. I ain't never claimed to be book smart, but I'll whip ya into shape right fast if ya's having trouble with life smarts. 

One of our customers here at the Theater Cafe is Stacy Stewart, the mayor's wife. She's a regular since we started that book trading thing, and she's generally readin' about psychology doings. You can read all about her in Prairie Springs. Speaking of which, some man wrote me an email today 'bout how good that Eller Williamson's book is—said every line was carefully crafted. I done been tellin' folks it's a good one, but I appreciated him a-writin' me. Maxine was doin' a little research and found that it's also been included on a list of recommended readin'. She wrote the man who runs the site and he told her he includes only one or two books a year. She told me to tell y'all that if you go to that Google page I told ya about, and type in GLBT Literature, it's the first link. (I don't right know what a link is, but that's what she said.) Then you have to go to the book recommendations. 

Tonight, I was watchin' that television show I mentioned with them singers. My girl, Kady Malloy, bless her fuckin' heart, was going to be sent back home, but then they called the other girl's name. I was so happy, I shed a tear. The problem with tears at my age, is they get lost in my wrinkles. If I don't dab them up, ya never know where they'll come out. I've started referrin' to my wrinkles as tear canals. 

I got me a kitty cat today—found it when I took out the garbage. The problem with having my apartment at the rear of the cafe is that the garbage gets drug through it. There ain't no other way to the back alley. We didn't do a lot of plannin' when we redid the joint, or we might have seen that'd be a problem. Anywho, there he was, or she. I hadn't looked to see yet. I named the booger Paw-Paw. I hope he don't mind the reefers on occasion. I can grow him some catnip in my special garden, so he don't feel left out.

I damn near forgot what I wanted to say about that psychology girl—And, well, I just forgot again! Sometimes I wonder if people shouldn't live as old as I am. Honestly! You get where you can't remember squat. 

I'm gonna go now so I can check on Paw-Paw. Y'all have a good one. 

I send you my love.

Winnie C.