We all have our quirks. One of mine is that I love my PRS guitars. Yes. I'm obsessed with them. I confess.
I'm not obsessed with anyone else's. I'm not obsessed with the ones online, or at the dealer, or in the works, though I certainly can admire them from afar. I don't need to shop all the time for guitars. But mine consume a good part of my thoughts.
Somehow there has been identification with them, to the point where they have become inseparably intertwined in my perception of who I am and what I do. That's strange, of course, and it makes zero sense, but it's also true.
I know I'm not alone in being obsessed with PRS guitars in some way. Let's hear it.
And what happens here in the obsessional confessional, stays in the obsessional confessional.
I'm not obsessed with anyone else's. I'm not obsessed with the ones online, or at the dealer, or in the works, though I certainly can admire them from afar. I don't need to shop all the time for guitars. But mine consume a good part of my thoughts.
Somehow there has been identification with them, to the point where they have become inseparably intertwined in my perception of who I am and what I do. That's strange, of course, and it makes zero sense, but it's also true.
I know I'm not alone in being obsessed with PRS guitars in some way. Let's hear it.
And what happens here in the obsessional confessional, stays in the obsessional confessional.