As my always-rational wife puts it, "Come on. You're as obsessed as anyone else. Why else would you spend all your spare time on an internet forum about a thing, conversing with equally-obsessed people you have never met to discuss that thing? It's as though it's your homework to answer every post." **
I might have taken issue, but I decided to look up the word in the context of its ordinary usage (as opposed to a DSM IV diagnosis that a shrink might make):
the state of being obsessed with someone or something: she cared for him with a devotion bordering on obsession.
• an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind: he was in the grip of an obsession he was powerless to resist.
ORIGIN early 16th cent. (in the sense ‘siege’): from Latin obsessio(n-), from the verb obsidere (see obsess) ."
OK, so I'm obsessed. Still, I tried to deny it. But I can no longer hide from the truth. The evidence is everywhere.
I was straightening up the bathroom, when I saw the last straw of evidence: guitar magazines. Yes, the bathroom magazine basket was stuffed with old and new guitar magazines. And I have read and re-read them dozens of times.
"Now there," you might say, "It's not like the bathroom is an exciting place to be, of course one reads magazines there."
Yes. But what kind?
Edit: **note my wife was kidding around with me when she said that...we were laughing about it.