Claire (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} quietasthestars) wrote,@ 2009-04-29 22:52:00 |
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iPod guilt
I was raised Catholic, which is a better excuse than most as to why I have an extremely guilty conscience.
See, I was the kid in elementary school who, if she didn't finish the lunch her mother so lovingly packed her every day, would take the remainders home and eat them after school. And I always ate dessert last, not because I wanted to save it but because I felt guilty eating it before my mother intended it to be eaten.
This overwhelming feeling of guilt disproportionally corresponds to my parents in some way or another - the lunch thing, the fact that I can't part with clothes my mom has bought me no matter how much they've since gone out of style... and now I have iPod guilt.
My father is one of the sweetest, most self-sacrificing, most thoughtful people I have ever encountered. So, for Christmas 2005, when iPod fever was sweeping the country and I had told my parents that they would not have to buy me anything else for Christmas or my birthday if I got an iPod, I not only got a whole host of Christmas presents (and birthday presents 10 months later) but I got the one thing that I coveted more than anything - a $400, 60GB, brand new video iPod, compliments of Dad.
My new iPod was amazing and I lovingly thought of my father every time I used it. It was probably the best gift I had ever recieved and I knew that my dad was happy and proud of himself because he had made me happy by giving it to me. Unfortunately, one of my many defects is that I am rather reckless and careless. I wear things out and break things much faster than other people, which is why my paperbacks have bent covers, my CD cases are mostly cracked and my brake pads are worn down 50% after only two years. So after being in an abusive (but loving!) relationship with me for just under three years, my iPod started to die.
At first he just had trouble starting up and switching songs, sometimes making moaning noises to communicate his discomfort. Then sometimes he wouldn't start up at all and the moaning turned to full out screaming. Finally, painfully, he would only load artists up to E. Then B. Then only halfway through the A's. And yesterday, he wouldn't load anything at all. Occasionally out of nowhere, without being provoked, his hard drive would scream the terrified scream of an iPod that knew his time had come.
I had a choice - I could either try to get my beloved iPod repaired, or, for not much more money than the cost of repair, I could get a brand new iPod with twice as much storage space. After considerable thought and deliberation (no, really, it took me a couple days) I decided it was probably more financially sound to just bite the bullet and shell out for a new iPod.
However, what breaks my heart is that I can't tell my Dad. He even asked two weeks ago when we were out raking the lawn together how my iPod was holding up, obviously still proud and happy that he had given such a gift. I lied right through my teeth and said that it was still as great as the day he bought it. My brother's iPod still is - he doesn't wreck things like I do.
Today I took my final journey with my iPod. We went to the Apple store to get his replacement. When I handed him over to Alejandro to be recycled I honestly (extremely sheepishly) got tears in my eyes. I held him one last time and watched as he got labeled and set aside to go to iPod heaven.
I have a new iPod now. He's black - they don't make white iPods like I had anymore. New iPods are supposed to make you feel happy, but this one feels like an imposter sitting, loading on my desk. I have to hide him from my parents, maybe even from my brother. I don't even really want to look at him.
I put him in the microfiber sleeve that came with my old iPod, to cover him up. Somehow that seemed appropriate, as if it helps blanket my shame and guilt as well.
I was raised Catholic, which is a better excuse than most as to why I have an extremely guilty conscience.
See, I was the kid in elementary school who, if she didn't finish the lunch her mother so lovingly packed her every day, would take the remainders home and eat them after school. And I always ate dessert last, not because I wanted to save it but because I felt guilty eating it before my mother intended it to be eaten.
This overwhelming feeling of guilt disproportionally corresponds to my parents in some way or another - the lunch thing, the fact that I can't part with clothes my mom has bought me no matter how much they've since gone out of style... and now I have iPod guilt.
My father is one of the sweetest, most self-sacrificing, most thoughtful people I have ever encountered. So, for Christmas 2005, when iPod fever was sweeping the country and I had told my parents that they would not have to buy me anything else for Christmas or my birthday if I got an iPod, I not only got a whole host of Christmas presents (and birthday presents 10 months later) but I got the one thing that I coveted more than anything - a $400, 60GB, brand new video iPod, compliments of Dad.
My new iPod was amazing and I lovingly thought of my father every time I used it. It was probably the best gift I had ever recieved and I knew that my dad was happy and proud of himself because he had made me happy by giving it to me. Unfortunately, one of my many defects is that I am rather reckless and careless. I wear things out and break things much faster than other people, which is why my paperbacks have bent covers, my CD cases are mostly cracked and my brake pads are worn down 50% after only two years. So after being in an abusive (but loving!) relationship with me for just under three years, my iPod started to die.
At first he just had trouble starting up and switching songs, sometimes making moaning noises to communicate his discomfort. Then sometimes he wouldn't start up at all and the moaning turned to full out screaming. Finally, painfully, he would only load artists up to E. Then B. Then only halfway through the A's. And yesterday, he wouldn't load anything at all. Occasionally out of nowhere, without being provoked, his hard drive would scream the terrified scream of an iPod that knew his time had come.
I had a choice - I could either try to get my beloved iPod repaired, or, for not much more money than the cost of repair, I could get a brand new iPod with twice as much storage space. After considerable thought and deliberation (no, really, it took me a couple days) I decided it was probably more financially sound to just bite the bullet and shell out for a new iPod.
However, what breaks my heart is that I can't tell my Dad. He even asked two weeks ago when we were out raking the lawn together how my iPod was holding up, obviously still proud and happy that he had given such a gift. I lied right through my teeth and said that it was still as great as the day he bought it. My brother's iPod still is - he doesn't wreck things like I do.
Today I took my final journey with my iPod. We went to the Apple store to get his replacement. When I handed him over to Alejandro to be recycled I honestly (extremely sheepishly) got tears in my eyes. I held him one last time and watched as he got labeled and set aside to go to iPod heaven.
I have a new iPod now. He's black - they don't make white iPods like I had anymore. New iPods are supposed to make you feel happy, but this one feels like an imposter sitting, loading on my desk. I have to hide him from my parents, maybe even from my brother. I don't even really want to look at him.
I put him in the microfiber sleeve that came with my old iPod, to cover him up. Somehow that seemed appropriate, as if it helps blanket my shame and guilt as well.
