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I'm just sick. Brand new 80gig video iPod, all loaded with every one of my 200+ CD collection, four games purchased at iTunes and about a dozen movies...jumped in the potty from my belt clip yesterday. Elvis was singing as they went under for about 3 seconds.
The screen was immediately a dark blue color, but the unit was still running as I sorrowfully powered it off and locked the "hold." As I scrambled for soft cloths, the water line could be seen in a sickening wave behind the screen. While the potty water was sterile, the little guy seemed to sense his humiliation. I rigged a setup on my makeup vanity - with the little 'Pod standing straight and upright so as not to slosh water upward across the screen and leave telltale marks of high tide. Gentle pressing of the center button allowed some seepage to escape to the Kleenex nest he cuddled upon. A gentle wind blew from the south as my hair dryer, on lowest setting, attempted to resucitate the little 'Pod with mouth-to-mouth from a distance.
I knew failure as a parent and a caretaker of my new and wonderful friend. You see, I suffer from a form of continual anxiety and panic attacks and the lone and sculpted world little 'Pod created in my headphones and beneath my gaming fingers gave me the peace I needed to take on some car trips usually avoided.
Desperate, and broke from my "after X-mas expenditure" - I appealed to my hubby for help. He nestled little 'Pod in a soft cloth used for cleaning flat-screen monitors and headed to the office to conduct surgery. Inasmuch as hubby has built every computer in my recent history, I felt little 'Pod was in safe hands. Armed with the proper surgical tools (referenced from desperate net searches by yours truly), hubby opened little 'Pod's case, splitting chest from back. He tenderly blew out residual water and the high tide marks disappeared. Blotting with Q-tips and clearing hidden places with canned air, hubby inspected for cracks and loosened wires, finally closing the operation with a taciturn, "Well, we've done the best we can. It's now up to God."
God was sleeping this morning when I tested lil 'Pod for signs of life. All I could get was a b&w picture of a frowning Pod relative and a blackened screen which alternated between asking for patience while charging and the odious Apple logo. I performed all the recommended key combinations, but alas iTunes could not recognize her small one. The charger was employed for a few hours, but no help. Lil 'Pod just attempted to fire up his hard drive, vibrating with the effort, and then went black with resignation. A sadder sight has not been witnessed by this writer since we had to bury four fireflies who did not last the night late in August.
Lil 'Pod now rests in my desk drawer, gone, but not forgotten. Mama iTunes is not speaking to me and I am praying for an unexpected windfall that I may adopt again and give her back a child. In the meantime, I don't stray from the house and the sound of silence fills my headphones.
To all those who have loved and lost, I have but one thing to say.
DON'T BUCKLE YOUR BRAND NEW IPOD TO YOUR PANTS! THEY ARE NOT EQUIPPED FOR SCUBA DIVING.
Sorrowful in Michigan
The Book Publisher
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