Wading in Thoughts up to your Hips Maybe

You know that quote that kids like to use... it goes something like, "Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond imagination!" Give or take...

I disagree.

I think that if I was powerful beyond imagination, I wouldn't have any fears at all. In fact, I wake up every morning and try to pick up my car or shoot lasers out of my eyes at the sun just in the hope that I am somehow powerful beyond imagination. Then I try to find jobs and stuff and I am afraid of being inadequate there.
So what's the point, guy who came up with this quote*? Are you trying to bag on everyone for not living up to their potential? One day I will live up to mine, and if it happens to be powerful beyond imagination, the world is in for a real treat, let me tell you.
And stuff...

 *Disclaimer: If this guy happens to be a General Authority, I will look deeper into this whole shpeel and find the meaning. Forgive my ignorance.

Years Mean Nothing?

I've written on this subject before, so consider this another witness to how consistent my philosophies are... or rather how unoriginal I am at the moment.
Sitting in a waiting room of a children's clinic and having forgotten to bring a Calvin and Hobbes along to keep me occupied, I shuffled around in my car to try and find some reading material to keep me entertained. Wouldn't you know I had my old journals in there from 2004 to 2008, documenting most of my time in Provo and on the mission. I read a few entries before I had to put the thing down in disgust.
How pointless! How juvenile! How vague and circumstantial! I felt like I should destroy the two or three notebooks of handwritten events in order to destroy any evidence that I was ever such a terrible writer and philosopher!
Again it reinforces the idea that living in the present is so much better than wishing for the past. Even as I went to go pick the kids up from the very same elementary school I attended as a youngling, I hardly felt nostalgic. The smell of that place never changes, and smell brings back memories like no other sense, but it only twinged my nostalgic heartstrings. I am glad I am here now, with all the added responsibilities, expectations, and disappointments of life.
Memories are nice, but only to be remembered and not relived and stuff.

Cabin Fever

The captain of the "Soul" looked out over the foggy sea and mused to himself as a dozen cliches passed through his mind... They had been out to sea now for nearly three months. The men were growing restless and the rations were receding along with the captain's hairline. The captain looked up but this biting fog shrouded even the stars in the heavy dark of the night sky.
At least we're not going in the wrong direction, the captain mused to himself.
"Wicked fog this evenin'."
The captain was startled by the sudden appearance of his first mate by his side. What a strange accent the man had...
"Minds me of the time we lost harf the crew off the coasts of Madagascur on account of leaky life boats..."
"Stow it!" snapped the captain, "I've heard that a dozen times before. You're like a broken record that knows exactly when to annoy me the most by interrupting my... musings."
The first mate was a bit taken aback. The captain surely did love to muse these days. In fact, did he do much else besides muse?
"I suppose you'll be breakin into a musical number next about having what they call, 'cabin fever'?" the captain said.
"No, I was more just comin up topside to invite you down below. The crew be gettin ready to play 'nother tournament of Stratego and we know it's not the same without ye."
The captain thought for a moment. He did love the games...
"No thanks. I've got some more reading and musing to do."
He pulled out the pocket watch with the cliche picture of his beloved above the timekeeping piece. It was a strange watch... it counted backwards as if time reverted itself every time the captain decided to pay attention to it. Ironically or perhaps not so ironically, the watch and the picture were both obscured by the condensation which settled on the glass surfaces almost immediately. It could have been from the captains breath in the frigid air, but it was more likely from the heavy moisture that smothered the atmosphere. Where would she be now after three months at sea? The captain couldn't even picture her face.
The first mate was already heading back under the deck when the captain asked aloud, "Does not the wind typically kick up after such a dense fog?"
The first mate stopped in his tracks, "Huh? You know I don't know a first thing about sailin' or wheather tellin' cap. Should I have the men run out some oars?"
The captain closed the watch and put it back in his pocket. Once again, he looked to the sky as if the last few moments could have dispelled the shroud that hid the heavens.
"Not until I can see the stars again."
The Soul was dead in the dead water. Not even the faint decklamps creaked in their rusty rungs for no wind had blown for two months. The captain began to move toward his quarters with the intention of losing himself in his books for another week or so.