I am so close to being a pack rat that I don’t freely admit it and instead like to think of myself as a ferret hiding my shiny treasures just because I like them…. Collector if you will… But this doesn’t mean in all bad senses of the word at times in the case of rat similes, but varying in this context. I am a Collector of not just things, but of ideas and of dreams. I have composition books upon books of thoughts, ideas, questions, reflections, drawings, theories, and desires. Pages full of treasures to me and me alone, that I keep hidden and unknown. I collect song lyrics and costumes, philosophy, pictures and journal entries. I keep fireworks and summer lightning flashes, flowers and fireflies, folders of familiar faces and fantasies. Art materials some may think of as garbage, lists of words to signify drifting dreams, alone or in series, miniature men and massive monsters, microscopic moments and madding morphings, stacks of floor plans in my mind of the hopes I pray to build for myself and others. “Cogito, ergo sum", translated, “I think therefore I am”…but I feel because I must and I know because I sought and I build because I am able and keep wishing because I hope. I collect things, yes, but I hope I’m not the only one.