I am... a T-shirt.

Ok, what is wrong with me? No, seriously?

You know how there are people with real problems out there? The hungry, the sick, the dying… It seems like I am the only person who will somehow manage to find a problem where there is none, then start obsessing about it until it completely consumes me and in time never really cross it off but rather store it in a memory somewhere deep inside my brain until it decides to emerge again. That’s me, The Obsessor. And now you’ll think how there surely must be a problem, that I’m unable to realize what that problem really is, that I’m not being objective about myself, blah blah... But, believe you me… I tried. I’ve been looking for it for days now (in the closet, under the sofa, on my balcony – everywhere!) and I just cannot figure out why on earth I feel like I feel. Maybe you could? Or whether there is a problem at all? Or is maybe exactly that the problem?! Confused? Stop reading! It gets worse…

You know how there’s one (or even worse, two or more things) you are really fond of and you can’t really figure out why? If you’re superstitious as I am, you’ll completely understand what the f**k I’m talking about. Like, a special pen, that you just have to have when doing an exam, or super magic underwear that you simply must wear on a first date. Got that? Ok, now, imagine a t-shirt.

It’s a t-shirt which is absolutely perfect, easy to wash, you don’t have to iron it, it goes with everything and you’d probably wear it every day, but people would find you weird, so… you know, you wear it every other day. You love it. Hell, everybody loves it.

But, one day. One awful day, somebody made a mistake. Somebody you love made a horrible mistake, washed it on a higher temperature so it shrunk, or the colours faded away, or burned it with a cigarette, spilt a juice all over it… you name it, there are numerous things that might happen to a t-shirt. The fact is – it is ruined. Lost for good. Lost its magic.

Suddenly you start to realize how ordinary that shirt was in the first place. Nothing special about a piece of cotton. You even think of yourself being crazy for believing in its powers. You throw it away and after a couple of days forget about it. Get a new one. A better one.

Until one day a person wearing the same shirt passes you by in the street, and everything comes back and slaps you in the face.

Now, comes the worst part.

Well, I had a very similar shirt. Well, I still have it. And it’s as though it stayed out too long in the Sun. As if I’d lend it too often to other people, so it got stretched. It’s full of holes, stains and God knows what, but… I somehow see it the same it. I still love it. It looks same to me.

On the other hand, I'm aware that it's bad. Wrong. The feeling is so rotten. But I enjoy it.

And that’s my readers, what I call a problem.