This is what a particularly slow day at work looks like.
(Note: The camera had 27 exposures, but 3 could not be developed, and I left out a couple for privacy.)
I think people feel more obligated to document exciting days than boring ones, but then you miss out on the magical charm of the ordinary. When you've got a camera in your hands with limited exposures to shoot and a quest to turn those exposures into meaningful and relevant exemplary snippets of your entire day, you start to look for and recognize what's so special about a typical day in the life of yourself. You'll find yourself snapping a photo of the sky at the precise moment you had some kind of epiphany, just so you can remember what it looked like in that moment. Plus--though I don't think it needs to be said; it's said quite enough and you can see it for yourself--there's something a film photo does to your heart. I've tried and tried to explain it, but I don't think words can do justice for the feeling. Film makes a memory look like it's from a long long time ago, and you were only a character in it's simple little story.
Perhaps a further challenge might inspire you. Don't develop the film for yourself. Decorate the camera and leave it somewhere for a stranger to stumble upon. Humans can't resist peeking into other humans lives. If you want a copy of the film for yourself, use duct tape to secure two cameras side by side and just press both shutters simultaneously (one with your left hand, one with your right) whenever you take a picture. Personally, I (and Silkworm) have an idea with this technique in mind, but we'll tell you all about that later once our plans have been properly executed.
In the mean time, try this for yourself. Document a day with a disposable camera--and keep us in mind when you get those photos developed; naturally, we wanna see. We're nosey; you understand?