Mario Villalobos

The Known Unknown

Even though I try to be as open and as honest as I can be on this blog, I purposefully omit many things that happen to me throughout my days and most pertinent thoughts I’m having. For example, I don’t write about what my novel’s about. I don’t write about the current scene or chapter or character or plot point or anything about my novel because I don’t want to, frankly. Writing about my novel when it’s unfinished ruins it for me, in a sense. Not everything is known, so when someone asks me what my novel’s about, I tell them what I can, but that usually incites questions I don’t have answers to. The same with those areas of my life I don’t write about.

When I had a journal, I would write about this stuff because I had an audience of just one: me. But with a blog, I realized I had to build a wall between what I want to reveal and what I want to keep private. I’ve somehow been able to be really honest and really personal on this blog, which I like, but since the entries are so short, I can focus on just one tiny sliver of what’s on my mind. Today, however, I had a hard time coming up with something to write about. My day was simple. It was normal. Nothing memorable happened. I worked out! I read! I wrote! I went to work! I didn’t really do much else. I watched more of the Good Wife but that’s really it. So I lied in bed, my laptop on my lap, and I just stared at the black screen of my word processor for a good 15 minutes trying to figure out what to write about. I thought about writing about her again, but what’s the point? There’s nothing to say right now. I’m organizing my books by color, but that doesn’t deserve more than just one sentence. I may or may not be hanging out with someone tomorrow. I briefly talked on the phone with my best friend today. Everything’s going fine, and that’s not really much for me to write about.

My car is still giving me problems, but I can’t do anything about it until Monday, when my dealer will take a look at it. It’s cold and icy outside, and it only looks to get worse. I’m listening to Nicki Minaj’s new album today because it’s good, and I like it. I thought about emailing her a few minutes before I started this entry because I thought why not. It’s been months now, and if she ignored me, then she ignored me. Whatever. I like Insanity Max: 30 because the workouts are only 30 minutes long, and he marks each set on the video so it’s easy to see how much more I have to push myself before I get a break. Not only that, the workouts are tough. These 30 minutes are just as tough as the 45-60 minute workouts from the Asylum. I like my bed because it’s big and comfy. I like my wall of inspiration. I like my pillows and my messenger bag. I like cooking. Granted, I know very few recipes, but they’re easy to make so I make them all the time. And they’re tasty. I don’t like that I’m more in debt than I thought I would be at this point. I don’t like that I want a new comforter because it’s the best reviewed one I’ve found and that it would look good on my bed. I don’t need it but I want it, and I can’t afford it. That sucks. I really want to focus on my finances this year, but it’s hard. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and I don’t know how successful I’m going to be.

I don’t know, you guys. This is day 123. The streak remains unbroken, but damn. Sometimes I really have to dig deeper to figure out what to write about, and I don’t know how well I did. As long as I don’t quit, right?