Prairie restoration

I received this e-mail from a friend a week ago: Dear Krista:

Please update your fucking blog.

TIA, Dave

Yet here I sit, STILL NOT BLOGGING. I feel like I have nothing to say. No wit. No stories. No anecdotes. No pictures of Rob Pattinson. Blogger FAIL.

Yesterday, in a conversation about prairie restoration (don't ask), someone explained it in such a way that I immediately applied it to my life. He said prairie restoration is just an effect of laziness. Plant a bunch of grass and flowers, then leave it be. Let it grow wild and unkempt, don't take care of it. The prairie restores itself. It grows out of control. A lazy man's gardening.

That's been my life since mid-April, when the campaign ended. No job, no home of my own, no stability. I certainly haven't been taking the best care of myself. My life's been growing wild and unkempt for over two months.

OMG, my life is a prairie restoration. As a direct result, I have nothing to say. What stories do you tell, when there are no stories to tell? I live in an attic. Nothing funny happens there. Haven't seen my best friends in months. I sit at home while everyone else works.

You want to know what I do all day, if I'm not plugging in a few hours here and there at the triathlon store? I read. On the porch. Sometimes I giggle as the neighbor walks Peter the American Bulldog past the house. But, you guys, that is not blog fodder. Except the dog's name is Peter. Which, in and of itself, is amazeballs. But alas...

Some of you may argue that sexalicious pictures of Rob Pattinson are not blog fodder either, but I beg to differ.

Next week I start working full time, and in a month I'll have my own place, so I have hope for a full restoration of my prairie. (That's what she said). And, by God, there's bound to be something good to say by then.

For having let you down, dear seekers-of-entertainment, I apologize.