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It’s a self replicating virus. It’s a cureless bacterial infection. Its an ever-increasing hydra headed beast. Nothing can remove it, no force can destroy it, no bleach will wash it away. It has seeped from my unwitting ear and multiplied until I have nothing but frozen fractals swirling in my DNA. I no longer have independent thought, I can no longer remember the soft murmurings of my mother comforting her infant son, I have no memories of my wife saying ‘I love you’ for the first time, I can no longer hear the choked cries of my own child as she first entered the outside world  . All I can hear is Let it fucking Go.

 

It can’t have always been this way. I pretty much ignored the song as it crept, plague-like across the world. When the film was first put on in front of me, I was doing the washing up and others chores to avoid it within 15 minutes (there seemed to be 17 giant songs squished into the first half hour of the movie, and I quickly got belt-it-out-emotional-codslap fatigue). But I guess it must have been unwittingly contracted then. The movie quickly became an obsession for my infant daughter. Despite the cold turkey movement to other films, it remained in her soul like a black spot and would be trotted out at a moment’s notice; ever ready to re-conquer and re-tighten its grasp on Little E’s heartstrings. The storm raged on. So now, it’s an almost permanent fixture in my aural life. If the movie isn’t playing, the songs are. If the movie isn’t playing and the songs aren’t playing, the songs are being sung. Relapse after relapse meant that only constant focus on not playing the song in my head like a terrible never-ending carousel was the only way of not reliving it, but that seems to no longer work either. It is on constant rotation. No other songs exist (with the exception of the occasional use of other songs from the movie), no conscious or unconscious time exists without some part of the song being piped in to my head from Disney Radio Hades.  I dimly remember a time when the song wasn’t a constant part of my aural landscape, but now I’m never going back, the past is in the past.

 

It’s not just the song now either. The context of my life has shifted. I’m no longer me, with my ambitions and hopes and fears. They have melted away (surely as a Frozen thing, using a melted metaphor should be outlawed) and I am a confused adolescent Queen Elsa, striding across the mountain, fearful yet grasping for freedom. My previous life slips away, and the new one crystallizes like an icy blast and I’m now trapped in a snow covered cartoon reality where whisky and cigarettes and carpet bombing and hangnails don’t exist. Where revenge and retribution and justice are the same thing – punching a man off a boat. Where all the heroes are young and pretty and thin and powerful and constantly rewarded with more wealth and more happiness and more power and by presumably getting thinner. I am bald and fat and (softly) pushing 40. Am I not a hero? Am I therefore a villain? Am I just a bystander whilst all the important things are dealt with by the young and pretty and thin and wealthy and powerful? Am I a talking snowman? It certainly doesn’t look like I’m the Queen.

 

I am currently lost in an existential crisis that I don’t have the cartoon sensibilities to face. I can’t sing. I don’t have an obvious evil to commit violence upon. All I can do now is watch the rest of my life roll by in the hope that me and my disposable and victimised ilk will be saved by some spunky young princess or her supernaturally powered family/gruff but lovable talking quadruped, whilst this continuously looped soundtrack is, let go in my head. It is my prison; I will endure but can not escape. I can hear the call ‘It’s just a movie, Stevie, It’s just a movie’, but I know how unsuspecting people can be caught in its icy grip, forever contained never to break free, heaven knows I’ve tried. It’s kind of insidious as well. You feel the need to share, to spread the load, to find comfort in a common calamity but I will never be culpable of that (nice alliteration, champ, your internet go down on thesaurus.com at the letter C?) never be the cause of others being trapped on my watch. No siree. But my wife is more generous and less worried about the effect than me;

 

 

‘You haven’t seen it? Borrow our copy, we’re a wee bit sick of it.”

 

“No! We will not spread this, we are contaminated but we can at least contain! It’ll never be over for us, but we don’t have to inflict it on others! (and when did you start saying ‘wee’?!)”

 

“Calm down it’s not the Ring, no-one’s going to die! (And you’re the one writing this, so don’t blame me in spoken inaccuracies in my speech!)”

 

“It’s a kind of death, the wife! Let them keep their own memories and songs and lives. Give them their lives! Allow them their own freedoms, the ones we have been denied!”

 

“Oh calm down, the husband, Just Let it go!”

 

“Argh!”

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