The Doctor Is In

The Camera Doctor, that is. 

I dropped my Nikon. It was awhile ago. I picked it up, and the camera strap caught on the edge of the table, and - swoosh - it was out of my hands and on the floor. There was foul language. And then, when I realized that the lens was sticking a bit as I turned it, there were a few tears - of shame, mostly, for failing to take better care of special things that cost a lot of money. 

And then the auto-focus started doing funny things - spinning and spinning and never finding a place to land. Not every time, but sometimes. I would turn it off, readjust the focus, and try again. 

It was manageable. Sort of. 

I didn't want to take it in to Best Buy - even though I had responsibly bought the accidental protection warranty, I didn't want to take it in. I didn't want to be without it for even a day. I couldn't think of a time when it would be good to let it be away from me. 

But Navah kept nudging, reminding me that things could be wrong inside that I didn't know about, that it could shorten the life of the camera. That I needed to bring it in. 

So finally I did. Over the weekend, and it was worse than I thought. 

Not the camera - the fix to the camera will be fairly minor. 

But they have to send it out. And I reluctantly passed it across the counter as the technician told me that he would get it back to me in two to four weeks. A month. 14-28 days. Forever. 

I'm in temporary mourning.

I'm realizing how much I love photography. How much beauty and joyfulness it adds to my life every day. There's a camera-shaped hole now. 

Even though it's only been 3 1/2 days, I keep waiting for them to call and tell me I can come pick it up. Get back to holding it in my hands. 

Very, very carefully.