Spruce, oh how much I love spruce. In Minecraft, I'm sure the developers intended for every type of wood to have a purpose, to serve to add something unique, to allow and fill out the niches normal oak just can't cut.

Dark oak, perfect for gloomy mansions and dark vibes , Jungle fantastic for integrating structure into the wild feeling of nature, birch filling out the desire for more fantastical and light-hearted builds. (and acacia is there too I guess).

But oh, how everything pales in comparison to my lovely spruce, the son of god, the reawakening of Christ, the modern day buddha, the bringer of peace to such a mixed up world. Whether intended or not, there is no wood that can compare to the feeling of joy and ecstasy that wonderous brown brings to me.

In this superflat world of mine, I've grown an appreciation to blocks and features a person normally wouldn't. Never before have I felt such a connection, a bond, even with the free leads + leather I thought the wandering trader was prior to this. Never before have I even bothered with certain subpar materials in the "end game" (Cough cough, stone tools), whether it be due to a lack of resources or just deciding that, worse than the best was.. Alright.

Yet, that feeling never came with spruce. Every building, every structure, every little outcrop upon this flattened world: it itched at the back of my head. the pale, desaturated tan of oak. Those hole-filled trapdoors, that unshakeable feeling of mediocrity.

I began to put off many projects in the sake of spruce wood, figuring I'd just casually pick it up eventually from a random trade. Oh, how wrong I was. As of writing this, it is day 192 in my world. He has taunted me, again and again. I do not *need* mangrove saplings, dark oak, birch, acacia, none of these subpar, lacking wood types will do for my tastes.

At times I wish that bastard just chose to forsake me, to leave, to never come back. He taunts me, however. He always returns, another sapling I've seen a dozen times before. It's as if I'm drowning, teetering on the edge of death within moments, only for him to give me one breath, one sliver of hopeful air, til I open his trading menu and see fucking birch for the 5 morbillionth time, as he dunks my head back into the unending sea that is my wait for spruce.

He is no less than the devil, this world of mine, the torturous pits of hell. I wasn't a particularly religious person before, but now I pray, constantly, begging to whatever deity lays above the clouds to spare me their mercy, to give me the singular thread of spiders' silk to allow me to climb out from this eternal torture.