heartbreak

Bad news:

My camera is dead.

My friend's mother knocked it off a chair onto some stone tiles and, though made it through the night, it wouldn't turn on the next morning. The force of the blow might have shaken the hardware from its casing, but I really don't know. I feel helpless, like a parent whose child's in a coma or a recent amputee. I keep reaching for it, panicked, certain it's been left behind, stolen, gone, before remembering that it's at home, auseless, expensive lump of ergonomic silver plastic. I'm broken hearted, suffering from phantom-camera syndrome, cursing each missed soliloquy opportunity to point my lens and scratch that irrepressible shutter-bug itch.


Help finance a trip to the repair shop?

edit: Whoo! My friend's mum's going to help out, so no worries, but thank you!