Circadian Arrhytmia

My body clock’s fucked up. I wake up in the middle of the night and can't fall back asleep. I love it and hate it at the same time. I perform stand-up in my head, but I don't write it down. I'll remember or not, and tomorrow at 3am I'll be on to the next bit. I'd rather be sleeping, but it's been months or years since I've slept straight through. Maybe I should go back to coffee. The way forward is often counterintuitive.

I was so tired, I laid down for a nap at 7 or 8. It's not even 1130 now. I can still eat or drink before the midnight cutoff. I wonder what post op will be like. A lot like this, I suppose. I should write it down.

I discovered André Ritchie, a Macau-based photographer and cyclist who makes a great case for GAS: gear acquisition syndrome. It's a thing among photographers. I'm a prime example. It's rare I go even a year with the same equipment. I advance. And recede. I go sideways, and over the edge. Incorrigible, Hugh says. Incorrigible.

In the 24-ish hours since the Monochrom landed, I'm now on my second Courage Run post. I'm back to the original mission. Live Large. Be Bold. Have Faith. Fear Nothing. Inside this lack of sleep is exuberance. I'm in a happy place.

André has an old Sony camera he's always going to keep, because it's the camera he took on his last family trip to Italy with his late dad. I didn’t even know the guy’s name. There's no contact info on his web site. He's on the other side of the looking glass. I want to tell him how cool that is as a reason.

If I didn't have to sell my old gear to fund the replacements, would I keep it? Not sure. I had a Leica M-P Typ 240. My first M. It was black, with the beautiful inscription on top. No red dot. Seems like I had it for a long time, but it was only a few months, right before the world plunged into darkness. I owned two Summilux lenses, a 35 and a 50. That kit was special. Worth holding onto, but I didn't.

24-ish hours in, my vow to shoot only black and white has already gone wobbly. I'm so enthralled by the Monochrom’s archaic technology that I want its companion beast, the M9, for color. Specifically, the stripped down version, the M-E. My friend André the GAS blogger says it's a German industrial gray. Sounds about right to me, but where will I find one? Thorsten von Overgaard, Danish photographer, says widows are a great source of Leica deals. Nothing against widows. If something ever happened to me, I’d want Penny to give someone a great deal on whatever Leicas I'd acquired by then. It would have to go to a good home, obviously.

I got to play with a Noctilux once. It's a monster of a lens, a $13,000 crown jewel with a gaping wide maximum aperture of 0,95. That 0,95 lets in a helluva lot of light. It takes months to build a Noctilux. I'm sure it's worth every penny. Makes me think of Wild Horses. Gonna ride them someday.

Am I good enough at this? The pictures aren't the point. There’s a feeling that washes over me when I'm inside a crowd, or among a small group of friends. I’m a switchboard operator, making connections. Part of the scene. Sometimes, center of attention. I'm a comic with a camera. A wild ride.

Midnight struck about ten minutes ago. No more food or drink till after the surgery. No, I'm going to grab a quick banana and a glass of water. Ten minutes won't matter.

I'm not even a midnight snacker, till now. I like the way sleep sneaks up on you, as an insomniac. You think you'll never catch a wink again, and then it happens, every time. You have no idea if it was an hour, or ten minutes, or if you died and went to Heaven. And came back with another Leica. To keep, this time. Because it's the original black and white digital full frame camera you bought right before surgery, and it turns out even though it was used, it was never used. When does that ever happen? To me it does. This time, at least.

There's a trick I’d forgotten about. You lean in or you lean out instead of fine tuning the focus ring. Manual focus ends up faster, anyway. Auto focus focuses on the wrong thing, much of the time.

I'm a square peg in a round hole. Sure, it makes more sense to shoot events with a Nikon or Sony. I can be that. Or I can be the guy who wades into the crowd with my unassuming black and white camera, and it’s 1963. Take your pick. I choose the way back machine.

It’s nearly 130 now. Bet I could eat another banana. It's not that far past midnight. We could reschedule the surgery. I could send a substitute. How do they even know I have a hernia, just by looking at my belly button? Will I feel any different? Will I sleep better at night, or not spontaneously combust?

I'm hoping for a repeat of the Monochrom. A used, not used M9. There's nothing wrong with a well used one. But a used, not used one feels like time travel. How did it get here, and why?

Sleep’s creeping up on me. Tomorrow’s a big day. It probably hurts, but don't think about it. I'll see you on the other side.