I got irritated, mr Frank.

 I'm not even sure if that's the most proper way of expression. But I bet you agree that the word 'irritate' has a power none of it's synonyms is able to posess. 

- I posted something on my blog- said my literary one of best friends Paolo O. Martin also known as Paul Portier taking a huge bite of salmon and chewing it thoroughly- afer so many weeks. Which means, I've finally overcome my depression.

 - Wasn't blogging supposed to be a medicin for your depression?- I was confused.

 - Well, yes, but after a while I got too depressed to run a blog.

 So I got into the moment, when I really didn't feel like posting anything. First, naturally, I thought I was depressed. But after all I understood I was just annoyed. No, exactly, bad word. I was irritated. 

 I got irritated again, mr Frank- I'm talking to my invisible imaginary therapist. 

 -What did make you so irritated then?- asked politely Frank, slowly moving his nailfile with his sleek fingers. He always asks me this sort of questions. He believes it makes me calm down when someone asks me the questions I want to hear. And he's mostly right.

 - About a colour of my new wardrobe after assembling it, my flatmate playing melancholic melodies on his harp every morning and one joke my friend Pattie told me.

 - What did your friend Pattie tell you?

 - I cannot reveal it now. It's supposed to be in the next post.

And usually a conversation like this is enough. Enough to irritate me. Because you have to know that nothing, simply nothing in the world irritates me as much as mr Frank does. At the beginning I thought it was because I always used him to speak about irritating things. But not. He actually irritated me.

 - Frank irritates me- said I, watching Paolo swallowing his piece of salmon and waiting for some astonishing reaction.

 - How can he irritate you?- answered Paolo and salmon clucked in his throat.- You created him by your own. 

 - Exactly! I created a monster.

 - So kill him.

 - Oh that's outrageous! You can't kill the person just because they are annoying.

 - But he's not real!

 - You say so because you haven't seen him. His sleek fingers, his nailfile and the way he always says what I want to hear.

 - But that is why you created him for! 

 Well, in this point I have to stop and explain how it actually was. Because my friend Paolo O. Martin, also known as Paul Portier, had it not exactly right. And no, I am not a schizophrenic. I just needed to create an another person around me, who will help me articulate my needs and ask me exact questions I need to answer myself at the moment. Oh come on, who wouldn't dream about it?! 

 - Maybe it's like with your blog. It was supposed to help as well.

 - Yes, but it didn't depress me even more. It just didn't fill the right function it was created to.

 Then Paolo O. Martin irritated me too. And that was the reason why I created mr Frank. To understand me, so I can use some abbreviation of my thoughts and I don't have to explain thoroughly every single thing which crosses my mind. To tell me what I NEEDED to hear. But in the end, it appeared as even more irritating. So I sticked to Paolo O. Martin and his salmon, leaving my urges to blow deep inside. And mr Frank was present in the end, slowly and monotously moving his nailfile in the silence of evening.