The post is not titled yet, it might just be titled, A TRIBUTE TO A BONGO PLAYER, but no bongo players were involved in the writing.

Self portrait in a corn field, atomixed by Collage Maker?

Good title, though, probably not the best to gain hits, views, donkeys in the barn, television sets in the living room, hell, even a living room of my own.

I fell asleep the other night, last night, but tonight, the sleep fairies decided for me not to sleep, 7:47 AM, sitting at the computer trying to write.

I was watching Sleepless in Seattle, a movie I've watched before, but not since Pam's passing. It takes on a new meaning now, my Pam was a beautiful person too, beyond beautiful and she put up with me, a lot.

Unlike Tom Hanks' character, it's not even been three months, let alone a year and a half, and no living child to call up some radio talk show host, knowing the way my luck runs, if I did have a child, they'd call up like Rush Limbaugh.

"So uh, Jason is it? Are you a Communist homosexual?"

I'd nod.

Then hang up.

I would probably wander off into traffic if it wasn't for my sister in law keeping me from doing that.

"Oh no you don't, you'll ruin somebody's car doing that!"

Damn her and her logic.

I keep trying to decide if I should move to New Mexico.

Or Salt Lake City, Utah.

I should move to someplace new, to begin a new life, change my name.

And my underwear.

I'd ask my sis in law if she wants to move with me, but I already know the answer, "It's Fresno or nowhere!"

(Note: Not really....but I figured you guessed that already!)

I'm still lost and confused as to what to do, play with myself is always an option.

Grammy keeps asking, "Bored yet with doing nothing?"

I nod.

I was bored with doing nothing years ago.

I'm a do nothing kind of guy, even when I'm working, I do nothing.

I mean, I go to work, and work, but when I get home, I've always been a hide in the closet playing Space Captain Pilot.

Grandmas don't seem to understand that.

Well, my mom's mom did, kind of sort of. I probably get that from her, at least the sitting and doing nothing. When I was little, like old enough to speak, but barely, me and my Grandmother(she didn't smack me on the knuckles if I called her grandma but she preferred the title, Grandmother, especially later in life, when I made the mistake of addressing a Christmas card to Grandmother Lincoln. ) would sit on her back porch in the rocking chair and watch the birds zooming in and out of the bird feeders, for hours on end, not saying a word.

Grammy does that as well, so maybe her question about boredom is just to see if I'm still breathing.

I am.

Still breathing.

I check every morning just to be sure.

There has been a few times when I've awoken, and thought, "Am I dead? I'm not breathing but still...."

But then I feel a pulse.

Apparently, according to the nurse at the free clinic, this is a good thing.

No, I don't think she's a real nurse, but then again, the doctor there isn't a real doctor, so it all evens out.

"What?"

I don't know.

He does have his high school diploma hanging on his office wall, if that counts for anything.

"I got it while I was in prison for assisting in suicides. Or malpractice, I forget which!"