Witzke, I'm afraid I don't like the sound of this. Let's see: a genetic GAS predisposition inherited from your dad, rationalization, justification, deception, illegal activities, marital discord. I don't need a crystal ball to visualize your future, which will almost certainly consist of a long period of residence in a cardboard refrigerator carton under a bridge, where you'll while away cold dreary evenings scratching cootie bites, sipping from the communal Ripple jug and waving torn-out advertisement pages from a ten-year-old copy of Popular Photography at any terrified passerby who can't outrun you, all the while screaming at the top of your lungs: "SEE THAT!!!! SEE THAT!!!!! I USED TO HAVE ALL THAT STUFF!!!!! I HAD IT ALL!!!! ALL OF IT!!!! IT WAS MINE, ALL MINE!!!! MUHUHUHUAAAAHAAAA!!!!!!!"
Of course what I conveniently failed to mention in my previous post was that since forsaking the venerable 6X7 last year and acquiring the 5D and a 24-105mm zoom, my partially completed shopping list has consisted of a 70-200 f2.8, a 100mm macro, a 50mm f1.4, a 24" iMac, Photoshop CS3, an HP Z3100 24" printer and enough "necessities" to fill a Chevrolet Suburban. I suppose you could call it a case of "physician heal thyself," although like any relapsing addict, I believe that my 26 or so years of relative sanity have entitled me to a little extravagance in my not-quite-old age. Now Witzke, where did you say you got that refrigerator carton? I'll need at least an 8-footer, so I'll have room for the stray dog who'll be keeping my feet warm.