The long-obsolete ipod that was thrown into The Pit of Requirement was a symbolic offering. It had lain around – defunct- for years. There was no charger, no life in the old thing. No point, really.
And so it went in The Pit.
The reason I’d hung onto it for so long was a sentimental one, partly. It was a gift for Little Seymour Number Two that never really lived up to expectations. It was second-hand, never totally worked and I only ever managed to upload two songs onto it for her: Play That Song by Train, and something by Rag’n’Bone Man (who she later went on to rather admire..).
Songs have not been played out of that ipod for years. Boy Seymour was adamant he could make use of it, yet it has taunted me with its obsolete presence in The Crap Drawer for far too long. I didn’t want to just throw it away – surely there was some silicone in there that could be usefully recycled somewhere? But then came The Pit…
By throwing it into The Pit, I was not contributing the ipod to landfill. I was, in my mind, preserving its technology for future discovery. It would be safe under the slabs, and, importantly, out of my way.
The patio progressed. The ipod was ceremoniously and respectfully placed ready for interment, and I walked away. Job done.
The patio was finished.
And then the sodding ipod was rediscovered, rescued and re-hidden in my bloody sideboard.
Boy Seymour had spied it in time, and hoicked it surrepticiously out of its burial spot.
The f@ck!ng thing had returned.
As funny as this may seem, it worried me. The Pit was an attempt to move on from things, to bury them, metaphorically and otherwise. Yet here we are…
I suppose it’s up to me whether I let a silly old ipod dictate my mental state. Why can’t just throw things away? Why do I over-think and analyse ALL THE BLOODY TIME? I have what I am calling BOOMERANG BRAIN. All of the thoughts I have ever had are replayed on a constant loop, round and back, round and back, popping up again and again, just like that twunting ipod.
So, I was brave. In spite of my environmental reservations, I smashed the bloody thing, and threw it in the OUTSIDE bin. The lorry came. It’s gone.
(Now I feel guilty.)
0 Comments