My first day off of school was uneventful, just like every other day. I got out of bed. I brushed my teeth. I went downstairs. I ate breakfast. I did tedious and monotonous chores. I played on my phone. I sat down. I walked around for an hour. I went to bed.
Relatives are supposed to be coming over today. My father said they’d be here around noon, if they made the flight. Noon is at 12. It’s 4. That either means my father is wrong or they missed the flight or both. There’s nothing to do, which is why I’m writing this. Nothing is still better than working, though. The worst part about this is that there’s nothing to write about. Of course, I could write a boring post about how my day was (cough cough). I’ve been considering going outside, but there’s snow so I can’t play basketball. Another problem is that my neighbor might spot me, and I’d be stuck outside for hours. I could draw, but that’s hard and takes too much effort just for one mediocre looking piece of paper. Some presents suddenly showed up under the Christmas tree, and I’ve been wondering if I should open mine to see what I have. It isn’t worth it though, because I’ll probably pull out a pair of socks once I unwrap my presents. I hate practicing the piano and the TV doesn’t work. Then my grandmother said I have to go to church with her. I hate going to church. It’s not that I dislike Christians or anything. It’s that everything in church is boring. And I can already hear some adults screeching in my ear, “You’re not in church to play, you’re here to pray.” I don’t know how to pray, nor do I particularly want to. Besides, I’ve been dragged along to church so many times that I’m sick of it. Just because my family believes in God doesn’t mean I have to. I’d rather wallow at home in my boredom than pray to someone who may or may not exist. My grandmother pestered me to go with her, told me that I’m a horrible child, and left. I don’t know why I’m supposed to go with her since all I ever do is stand there for an hour. She could bring a wooden chair to church and it would do the same thing. I think it’s unfair that I have to convert to a religion just because the rest of my family has.
There’s nothing else to write about. I could complain about the things that happen to me, but most of them are just minor inconveniences. They start to stack up and annoy me, but people would rather read about a major inconvenience. Even I will admit reading about how your house burned down is more entertaining than reading about how you accidentally spilled some toothpaste on the floor.
I’ve been staring at the screen for ten minutes wondering what to write. There’s nothing to write.