Day 1: Morning. We awake, my camera and I, and snuggle for awhile. I get up and shower; the camera gets polished and placed on the shelf. Afternoon. I take camera off the shelf, polish it again; open up the back, dust out the innerds, place back on shelf.
Day 2: I'm having my coffee, the camera is sitting on my Moleskine notebook, looking ready to go. We discuss our day's outing. I place camera in bag, along with several rolls of film. Afternoon. Camera bag goes into car, I run errands. No shooting gets done. Out of guilt, I take camera to coffee shop. I have a latte; the camera sits looking pretty.
Day 3: I take extra long time to snuggle, polish and fondle the camera. I'm having concerns about our long-term relationship. Camera looks disused and out of sorts. I'm starting to think I can hear something grind or rattle inside when I stroke her advance lever.
Day 4: We're not talking. I'm surfing RFF, especially the classifieds. That little-used Electro GSN is starting to look better all the time. I leave the camera on the shelf, no fondling, no love.
Day 5: A relative, whom I haven't seen or spoken with for six years, calls and says he's getting married, would I mind doing a "few quick wedding snaps", you know, out of some mis-spent sense of family obligation. I begrudgingly agree. Out comes the camera. Much fondling, spritzing; I throw a roll of Walgreen's film into her and go shooting in the park. She's starting to sound like the good ole' camera I fell in love with years ago. That's the spirit! Evening. After getting the prints back from the drug store, I can see that she still has that good old glow about her.
Day 6: The wedding. Ten rolls of film, some color and some B/W. She's sitting on the shelf now, watching me doing the semi-stand development. We're back together in that happy place again.
My camera: I think I'll keep her.
~Joe