As I mentioned the other day, someone extremely close to me suffered an episode a couple of weeks ago that nearly caused his demise. Fortunately, he was put back together again (lucky Humpty that he is), and is making a remarkable recovery. This is good news. I happen to think this person is quite ginchy, and I know he spared me his death because he knows that I no longer wear black during the day in the summer, and thus I would be hard-pressed to dress successfully for his funeral. It is precisely this sort of thoughtfulness that makes him so very special.
Well, I am sad to report that someone else who plays a big role in my life was not so lucky, and died this weekend after a very brief illness. It was “touch and go” for a day or two, and then, on Saturday evening, death came a-knockin’ right here in my apartment.
The victim was my beloved iPod. It came to live with me in April, when my first iPod died after only nine months. Apple called it a “replacement”, but in my heart I never regarded it as one. It, like every one of us, was its own unique snowflake. I thought we’d have a long life ahead of us. The iPod would see me through workouts and subway rides. And I’d return the favor by making sure it hung out in sophisticated style in a stunning purple glow-in-the-dark iSkin. Of course, I missed the first iPod like mad (I am tempted to say “iMad”, but that would require me to punch myself in the back of the head, and I’m just not up for it right now); I’m not so heartless that I would forget the joy it brought into my life, no matter how short-lived.
So now, iPod2, you’re gone as well, after only four and a half months. Half as long as iPod1 lasted. But that doesn’t mean I only loved you half as much, despite what I may have whispered to the ghost of iPod1 last night in a particularly moving moment of sentimentality.
R.i.Pod. I will never forget you, even as the new iPod colors my world.