Tonight I dropped my camera on the kitchen floor. It wasn't a long drop (I was already crouched down to take a picture of the fresh out the oven chicken and veggies my roommate and I cooked) but it was a mighty drop.
My poor, sad little camera no longer functions. I'm going to try to find her some help, but at the moment, it's not looking good.
My camera accompanied me nearly everywhere I went for the past three years. I've taken thousands of pictures with her. I've shared so many special memories with her. She's helped me remember good times with my friends, family...and I was hoping with my mom on my upcoming trip to see her at Christmas.
Alas, she is no more.
I think I would have cried if it weren't for the fact that my power cord to my laptop is broken and I'll most likely have to buy a new one this week, so the timing of it was just too comical to let tears fall.
Yet another reminder that they're just things. Stuff. Meaningless.
Yeah, it stinks. But after breaking my camera, I enjoyed a delicious dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables, while I know that just a few blocks away three little girls I met last Friday are having nothing bread with butter and nutella for dinner.
And I'm quite sure that in the same apartment building as those three girls, other families are going without food.
How can I complain over luxuries such as laptops and cameras breaking knowing that down the street there are families with no meat, and maybe even no food, on the table? When last night I took a friend to sign up for my church's food distribution, because their money ran out, they have no jobs, and she doesn't know where next week's meals are going to come from? When I know that two blocks to the East there are homeless men sleeping on park benches, one block to the North sleeping on the sidewalk by the train station, and two blocks to the South in another park?
All while I eat my roast chicken and vegetables.
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