The second diary entry found composed by Diego.
December 19, 2017
Diary,
I guess now that Jamish knows, it's safe to tell you about all the places I've been and things I've done. I don't have to hide it anymore. That's actually really freeing to think about. Speaking of, I ever tell you about the time I went to Poland. It was gothic and busy and quiet at the same time. There were so many churches. There were so many closely knit neighborhoods. I met a man at a watering hole.
He was an angel. Well, he was my angel. I was just walking through the streets after poofing myself there from Italy. I got the most delicious hot cocoa. It was legit. It stayed warm all the way there. It only took me like 15 minutes. It was A LOT of poofing. I was kinda exhausted. I make it to Krakow, cocoa in hand, kicking my feet through blankets of snow laden streets. I came upon this pub. It was probably 11 or so in the morning. People were just in there having a bite.
This man, his face looked like he'd seen some things in this life. Stern brow. Sun stained face. Messy hair under a floppy beanie. He had a jacket over some bibs. Maybe he was a mechanic or something? I dunno.
He was just out front smoking. I walked up, cocoa in hand. He offered me a smoke. That was generous. I told him my life story. I felt so comfortable talking to him. He didn't respond. He just smoked his cigarette and I puffed on mine. I don't inhale very well. Well, I don't inhale cigarettes very well. I try, but I'm not super good at it.
I think toward the end though, I panicked. I don't think he gave any inkling that he spoke English, but maybe he did. I freaked out and just walked away. He was so stoic though. He just stood there and looked at me. HE EVEN LIT HIS MATCHES AGAINST THE BRICK BUILDING! An angel I tell you.
I don't know if I will do that again. I mean, I have Jamish now.
You know what's weird though. I have neglected my farm. I mean, all my animals are probably starving. My farm hands haven't been paid. They have probably all left. I haven't collected any ore or anything. I was so addicted to that stupid game. I mean, I actually liked it, but I can't bring myself to boot it up. Right now. It's strange. I think I've been distracted enough to not play, but if I'm honest, sometimes I Jones really really hard for it.
Like, remember the other day when I was at that French bakery? All I wanted to do was log in and do that farmzilla bull shit. I almost missed my place in line because it was all I wanted. Then, soon as I got back home, boom. Gone. I didn't want to play at all.
And sometimes I feel an itch to smoke. It's super weird. I think, when I was with the arch angel Michael, it was one of those times. I know I'm not super good at inhaling, but I wanted a cigarette. Maybe that's why I stopped?
I'm avoid Vegas. I like it there. The lights, the shows, all the people. There's this sushi joint that's pretty good. But, I don't want to show up one day and be desperate for a baccarat table or something.
Dearest of diaries, my name is Diego and I am an addict. I know this. I grew up playing more games than I should have. I got my black belt in karate after only a few months of 12 hour days that one summer. I learned the piano and guitar and all those other instruments and got pretty good because I had to. But this feels different. Like, every now and then, I am desperate for the thing that's calling to me. Desperate.
I've never done coke. I've never gambled my life away. I did play for 28 hours straight the year that I got that Legend of Zelda game, Ocarina of Time. I had to play through the whole thing. Had to. It was fun, and I got grounded, but who cares, I beat it. I think most kids will over do things though, but this. The yearning.
The yearning is so pronounced. I feel as though I have been holding my breath after exhaling and the light is closing in. Like I would claw through the cement for air. Like I would pound through a brick wall to take a breath.
It's like that time when I was a kid at summer camp. We went for a walk. The sun was scorching. It burned my shoulders and the top of my head. I had a lot of curly hair, almost an afro, but my head still burned. We were all parched. The walk was supposed to be a few minutes, but our counselor took us the long way around the lake. We walked in the 110 degree weather for three and a half hours. I was maybe a little dehydrated from playing all day before that. We were walking to a kid made water park. It was supposed to be this fun occasion. We were walking along this lake. The desire for water was compounded by being next to this water we knew we couldn't drink. I couldn't even spit any more. The counselor, Henry, I'll never forget his stupid face, kept saying, “guys, it's just a few more minutes. I took a left instead of a right and we have been walking way longer than we ought. I'm sorry, but just a few more minutes.” Like, on repeat. He must have said that 10 times. The bastard.
My desire for whatever it is I feel is like that day. Like the water in that lake I wanted to drink. The desperation I experienced. I was a kid. I didn't know how to settle down and just keep moving along. I needed water right then. That's all I knew. The yearning was so profound. Is profound even now.
Luckily, it's seldom enough I can just shake it off before it really takes over my whole day. My farm though. I've left it in disrepair. It lives in my pocket and I can't be bothered to check on it. Zero desire. I made a spreadsheet of all of my crops, one for all of my animals, one for all the relationships I was cultivating. I was like two weeks from reaching level 10 friends with Lula the pig farmer. She would have only bought corn and barley from me increasing my gold intake by like what, 12%?
But I can't be bothered.
I'm not avoiding it because it's not fun. I just am finding that my emotion connection to the things I loved is waning. I find myself being pulled in different directions. One constant is that girl I met in New York. Copper and Oak.
Everything slowed down when I was in there. I felt warm. I felt safe. I was at ease. The yearning for the nonsense was gone. There was no anxiety.
To be fair. Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was just the bar. Maybe there was someone else there. Maybe I couldn't see the forest for the trees because I was so caught up in there being a “her” that soothed my soul.
There are too many what ifs. Focus, man. Focus.
Wait... why am I just now realizing our initials are TNT? There's no way that's an accident. When I call my mom next, I'm going to ask her. Tabitha, Nathaniel, Tomas. Damnit, that's not even clever. Awpoisenfpoawienf
Without hyperbole
everything that haunts me
calls me
I fall before them
or run
never fighting back