WiPod

I do believe my Sansa is toying with me.
I love my mp3 player. It was my biggest birthday present last year and it was my father who doctored it up and added a plethora of songs that he knew (Or thought he knew) I loved. He added clips of my favorite movies and a picture each of my Mother, Basil, my Brother and my Sister. Mum beamed when I opened the present.
When I am upset, I curl up in a fetal position in my bed and I listen to Breathe Me by Sia. When I am energized, I spin around the house listening to Frou Frou or (recently) Madonna. When I am sick I listen to anything and I begin to feel better. When I am thinking about the boy that I am still holding onto I listen to Rootless Tree by Damien Rice.
I do not own a fancy-pants iPod. And though I guiltily covet them, I could never quite replace the little sansa that has been with me through every hill and every valley of these days.
And now, strangely enough, my mp3 player is turning against me.
The headphone jack is acting up. I can only hear in both ears if I hold the cord of my headphones in a very exact position.
Also, more vexingly, the little meter that shows me how much battery I have left is completely wonky. Sometimes after twenty-four hours of anticipating and agonizing charging, it will inform me that it is still a little tired and that it would like to be charged again thankyouverymuch. Sometimes, the meter will flicker between charged and ready to die. It seems that every time I glance down at the screen of my sansa, it has changed from green to red. I break out in a sweat, until the little red bar sneakily fills up to green again. I breathe easy for awhile until I happen to look down, and see that once again, the battery is red.
It is a tension-filled existence.
I keep expecting to completely lose it and start screaming manically at it, and it's fickle little meter.
Really.


This is Rootless Tree by Damien Rice. It's the perfect combination of exasperation, love and desperation.
I think, anyway.