My dad makes me mop the floor every Saturday. Of course, it's nothing really bad, as it lets my conscious just think while my subconcsious does all the work.
We had a band concert at school today. Sadly enough, the Seventh Graders did better than us. Still, I blame the percussion. They didn't need to hit the drums so hard that it looked like they were trying to beat the drums to death.
I was going to make an entry about real life, but I forgot what it was about. I was going to do something to improve my memory, but I unfortunetly forgot that, too.
