These are just some random log entries by various people on the Enterprise. Some of these have specific characters in mind, but not all of them. They're all fairly short, and some are about specific people and events, and some are just late night ramblings... If people like these well enough I will write more. I have a few more in mind. I don't own the stuff Roddenbury and Abrams created because I am obviously not them!
-Begin Recording Personal Log-
What makes a person abnormal? What is abnormal? Who are we to judge? Does being careful and checking things make a person abnormal? Abnormal has such a negative sounds to it. So what if I check that I correctly recalibrated the medical tricorder or check that my reports were submitted at least twice every time? That is my thing. Everyone has little odd things about them. What makes this thing bad or wrong? Who decided that this is an compulsion? Who even came up with OCD? That is just the dumbest thing ever. I guess people who have to wash their hands over and over are a little off, but that activity can really do damage to a person's skin. Could anorexia be OCD? Anorexics are obsessed with food and dieting. They hoard, they have habits and routines. What's wrong with routines anyways? Everyone has them. The DSM-IV people think they are so smart and high and mighty sitting there passing judgments. They are the abnormal people. Not us. Not me. I am fine. Okay, I will admit that it is a hassle that I can't bring myself to pilot a shuttle for the fear of crashing said shuttle even though every other person on this ship has no problem with that. It is also annoying that I have to run a few laps around my quarters to make sure everything is unplugged and that the curling iron is off even when I haven't used it in days. Lieutenants Marxwell and T'Prill, my neighbors must think I am on something for having to go back to check that my quarter's door is closed securely. I hate that I have to do these things, and think these things, but it could be worse, right? I should be thankful that is the extent of my craziness, my abnormality. There are some people out there who are much worse than me. So what if some stupid scale in Len's office said that if I score two or more on one section and five or more on the second that I should seek medical attention and the fact that I score a six and nine. The general medical database is crap. Anyone could tell you that. Doctors hate it when patients come in saying, oh I read this on the database and I think I have it. The database is so stupid. Say I did go to Len, and he wants to do behavior therapy or the exposure thing. If I could just walk out of my quarters in the morning and not have an overwhelming urge to go back, I would do it. I can't just force myself not to do it. This is really driving me crazy. I don't want to be crazy. Who is to say that I am crazy? Is it like the whole drug thing, where I have to be the one to admit I have a problem? Some drug addicts use a twelve step program to deal with their issues. But part of that means admitting I have a problem. I probably don't have a problem. I am not abnormal. Lots of people have to check that the curling iron is off before they leave. Better to check once or twice than to burn my quarters down because I forgot to check and turn it off. I am not abnormal. I am safe. I am cautious. There is nothing abnormal, wrong or crazy about that.
-End Log-
-Begin Recording Personal Log-
I lost trust in my best friend today, and the Captain surprised. I think Lieutenant Collier will enjoy his time in the brig and Jim will enjoy his quality time with Doctor McCoy getting his broken fingers fixed. Jim's left hook is definitely impressive. He managed to take the lieutenant down in the science lab without disturbing any of the research going on, in one punch. It sure gives Spock's Vulcan nerve pinch a run for its money. Anyways, I can honestly say that I won't be confiding in Nyota again anytime soon. You know there is a reason why I didn't say anything to security. I was sort of hoping I could tell her, she'd agree with me that men are idiots and we would move on. Apparently not, and now everything is a big mess. Everyone either wants to hear what happened and hug me, which I might add was a little awkward when Ambassador Gav tried to hug me while yelling quite viciously that he wanted to go restore my honor, or else they are avoiding me like the plague. When I asked Nyota why she felt the need to pass this along to the Captain, she said it was her duty to report this. Apparently her duty as a friend ranks a bit lower. So then the Captain calls me into his ready room after lunch and asks me about it. I know he was just worried about me, but he and Nyota don't get it. I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget that it ever happened. Maybe I was too sensitive and over reacted. Maybe I misheard what Collier actually said. Giotto questioned him though and he really did say those disgusting things. I also guess there is no mistaking the fact that he cornered me in the turbo lift and touched me. I just don't understand why I have to talk about it. The Captain said I should talk to Doctor McCoy, but that's crazy. There is nothing to talk about. Nothing happened that would require medical attention. McCoy said that even though that's true, what I "experienced" was still traumatic. What the hell does he know about traumatic?! I am not traumatized. I am getting my work done as usual. It's not a big deal that I almost started hyperventilating when Lieutenant Chekov and I shared a turbo lift to lunch. I got that under control. Nor is it a big deal that I nearly slapped the Captain when he came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. He simply startled me. It's not a big deal, I don't want to talk about it and I will never trust Nyota with another one of my secrets again.
-End Log-
-Begin Recording Personal Log-
So it's officially been twenty seven years, three hours and sixteen minutes. No, I am not a Vulcan, being all exact. The captain locked himself in his quarters all day with Doctor McCoy stopping by every few hours. I don't blame the Captain for acting like he does today. He never got to meet his dad, and that has to be one of the worst experiences a person can have. Me, I was still on duty, replacing an old warp core reactor. I don't mind working today, it was nice to be able to keep busy. I prefer it. What really bothers me, what really makes me want to take this old reactor and drop kick it into space is that Jim Kirk and Adelina Robau weren't the only ones who lost parents that day. No one ever thinks about the people who died in the first round of fire on the Kelvin that day, people like my mother. She was a great engineer and an amazing mom. Let me tell you, it's tough being a single parent to a seven year old while in Starfleet but until that cold March morning, she made it work. She made it look easy. The fact is, I feel each hour pass like the first attack of the Nerada happened yesterday. I still remember coming home from school, anxious to tell my Babba about our field trip to the aquarium. She was sitting at the kitchen table crying. I'd never seen her cry except for when she watched the holo of that old movie Forrest Gump. I hated seeing her cry. When she told me what happened, it felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. It took a long time, but eventually Babba stopped crying all the time, and things were getting to a new kind of normal. The Lower East Side was my new permeate home until graduation. Then San Francisco and the Enterprise became my home. Babba still cries every year at this time. I am still waiting for the tears to come. So yeah, here's to Richard Robau, here's to George Kirk, but most important, here's to Dasha Zolotareva, here's to you mom.
-End Log-
Babba = Grandma in Ukraine