Ode to a Stolen iPod

It's the sort of thing that you never think will happen to you. You hear the warnings, and the terrible stories. You know people it's happened to. And you know that they've never been the same since.

But not you. It could never be you. You're better than that. The world is a kinder place than that. Right? You certainly don't deserve it. God no. Think of all those good deeds you've done. There was that blind woman you helped cross the street, the countless people you've given accurate and in depth driving directions to, the shiny coins you've tossed magnanimously to many a homeless man or woman. And don't forget all the times you said, 'Keep the change' even when you didn't really want that conniving timewaster of a taxi driver to do anything of the sort. So no. You know, it won't happen to you.

But then, it does.

At first, you're in shock. You don't believe it. There must be some mistake. Soon, however, much too soon, reality sets in and you realize you have to try and cope. But the pain is too fresh, too new, your metaphorical wound yawns open and you realize you don't know where the nearest metaphorical hospital is, or even where you parked your metaphorical car, so you'd have to take a bus there.

Anger comes next, consumes you. A vermilion haze that does not part or lift for days. You feel stronger, safer, invulnerable within it. But it doesn't last for ever, and soon you are left with a quiet despair.

This is when you realize that maybe you should just get over it and buy a new iPod. I mean, come on, they're a hundred dollars cheaper now than the last time you bought one, right?

*************

All melodrama aside, it does really suck to have your iPod stolen. It makes you feel, for one thing, like an easy mark. And Evan and I convinced myself that I must have left it at home, after we discovered it not in my bag as I expected in the first few days of the trip, so I spent the whole trip thinking it was safe and sound, only to find out when we got home that it wasn't there at all.

Yes, it's just hunk of metal with a little plastic thrown in. But it's been to 14 countries with me, been my companion in many European museums, and kept me sane at crazy desk jobs. Plus, I keep thinking of the inscription I had Apple put on the back: 'Omnia mea, mecum porto.' Which is Cicero, if your Latin's a little faulty, and basically means 'All that is mine, I carry with me.' Which is a cute (if supremely dorky) thing to write on a mass storage device, and a good motto for someone like me who schleps a bunch of crap with her everywhere she goes. But of course, it also means more. And I'm not sure if I could bring myself to reuse it on a new iPod.

Anyway, Part 2 of our saga is on its way. Just had to get this out of my system first.