I'm Not There

When I was younger, I was afflicted with a strange (yet surprisingly common) illness that, though bearing no physical symptoms, leads sufferers to believe that they are, in fact, Bob Dylan. The disease manifested itself mainly through twanging away on an acoustic guitar, and blowing atonally into this very blues harp, though occasionally they also extended to not answering a simple question with a straight answer ("Am I going to the pub? Man, you can't just go to the pub. There's inherent protest involved. It's like the difference between up and down.")

Though I largely recovered from this juvenile dementia, its more solid symptoms remain in the form of guitars and harmonicas lying under a thick canopy of dust.