I wish I had a camera in my mind. Like a real one, a tiny one, and whenever I saw something that I thought was interesting, ironic, funny or just plain beautiful like life tends to be sometimes I could just think click and then I'd have that picture forever. I'd remember how it made me feel and how it smelled and how the moment tasted.

Maybe I'd be funny about it. Like that one girl in Elizabethtown, the one that plays opposite of Orlando Bloom. She'd see things that she'd want to remember, like Mr. Bloom walking away from her in the airport (and who, quite honestly, could pass up a picture of that?) and she would make a rectangle with her thumbs and index fingers, hold it up to her one open eye, click an invisible button and provide the appropriate sound effects. It would be best during those private, awkward moments where the subjects don't find their situation as interesting as I do. Moment. Click. Confusion. Then I would run away, obviously, or stare at them as though making mental pictures tangible was a normal thing. Stare at them as though they were overreacting to a common occurrence.

It isn't enough to remember the picture. It isn't enough for it to live in my mind, even if I could access it at will. I'd want to be able to hook it up to a printer and to show other people the beautiful things that I'd picked out during the day.

Sure. It would be easier for me to just carry around a camera. Take pictures at will and then print them off and share them with the world.

But that would make me a photographer, and that I am not.

Rather then wishing for a printer that could connect to my brain and print out what I saw, I could become a master of the visual arts, drawing and painting and sculpting my memories into life.

But that would make me an artist, and that I am not.

I am a thinker.

What better place to do your thinking and to hold your thoughts then the three pound memory card you carry with you always?

The beauty of my idea is that the only way to bestow my dreams on the outside world is truly through my words.

My words.

(possessive much?)