Captain’s log, Stardate 20619.5, personal entry.

The usual hums, beeps, and whirrs somehow soothe me as I sit here, lost in thought and in something beyond thought. Something deeper. As if my very soul was engaged in a deep and troubling spiritual struggle that my conscious mind can barely even perceive, let alone comprehend.

How arrogant the conscious mind can be, I think as I sit on the sidelines as a blind spectator to the battle deeper within. It think it is all there is to me, when in reality I, like any other human being, am a deep and powerful computer for which the conscious mind is merely the interface.

And an unreliable one at that.

I’m glad I am alone. Glad I don’t have to be The Captain right now. Glad I don’t have to try to think of things to say or make decisions or absorb new information.

And I am especially glad I don’t have to explain this strange and troubled mood I am in that makes such things seem almost impossible.

I guess we’re human after all.

And I guess I really am getting old because I find myself in these thoughtful moods more and more lately.

A younger me was far too impatient and energetic to slow down for such things. When I was fresh from the Academy, I scoffed at those who sat in thought.

Why in the Galaxy would anyone want to do that when there were so many fun, challenging, and exciting things to do? Who could sit still when there were so many planets left to explore and adventures to be had? I certainly wasn’t going to waste time thinking about what I believe or mulling over emotions from the past!

I guess I am catching up now. Age has finally slowed me down enough for all my ghosts and visions to catch up to me, and there’s in no mood to wait.

It’s their turn to be too impatient to deal with me. Seems appropriate.

I feel so tired lately. Not physically – with the kind of chief medical officer I have, I don’t dare let my physical condition slip or she will clap me in irons and throw me into the Holodeck for one of her “well balanced full body workout” programs that I am positive violate the Geneva Convention, the Kittamar Accords, and the laws of time and space.

No, this is a different kind of tired. I think perhaps there are resources of the mind and spirit that we spend without knowing it and thus spend freely and without forethought.

And we get away with it too, when we are young, because whatever it is, it replenishes rapidly and we hardly know the difference.

But as we age and the budgets for all our activities shrink, we start running a serious deficit, and sooner or later, we have to pay the price.

I guess that’s why I am sitting here while my crew is down on the planet, checking out those strange life signs we detected.

If you had told that brash and arrogant young man fresh from the Academy that there would be a day that he would sit alone on the bridge while the crew explored an entirely new planet – one not even detected by the long range sensors – I would have laughed in your face and called you a liar.

Quite literally. I am afraid. God, I was an ass.

But now, I am content to monitor their progress via their com traffic and telemetry. So far, nothing of note had turned up. They have not found the source of those bizarre life signs, but that will come in time, and in the meantime, there is a whole new planet to explore, examine, catalogue, and enjoy.

And immortalize in verse, of course. Have I mentioned that I discovered our young Mister Perry is quite the poet? I mean, he’s no Shakespeare or Lok Twan, but his verses are parsecs ahead of poets twice his age, and I look forward to seeing how his talent develops over time.

Persuant to this, I have very, very quietly given orders to all the senior staff that if our budding bard should suddenly stop what he is doing, take out a padd, and look thoughtfully off into the distance, they are to wait at least five minutes before ordering him back to his duties.

Talent must be nurtured, after all.

One of the only good things about aging is that I find that I appreciate people more now than I ever did when I was younger.

When I was young, I made snap judgements about people based on the entirely selfish criterion of what I thought I could get out of them – were they amusing, or interesting, or well connected, or good at a sport I liked, or something like that.

Now, when I think back at all the wonderful people I dismissed out of hand because they did not immediately appeal to me, I feel like the biggest fool in Starfleet.

And if ever I feel like I am in danger of forgetting that lesson, all I have to do is have lunch with my Engineering Chief, because he was one of those people.

I met him when we were both in the Academy. He was half a year ahead of me. He greeted me cordially then went back to reading some abstruse technical manual about the fine points of warp manifold configuration.

I immediately dismissed him as a dullard and a druge and went on my merry way.

Now we have been friends for eight years and there is no man in Starfleet I love or respect more. Every single day, I thank my lucky stars that I know him. He is my rock, my anchor, my best friend, and the only one who can calm me down when my mind starts running too hot and I get anxious and take on more than I can handle.

Yes, future historians, that was the real reason for our sudden “sparring matches”. I know I told people they “helped me think”, and they did.

But they did it by keeping me too busy trying to keep from getting clobbered with a pash-tung-ai stick to be scared.

And you have to admit, there’s friends, and then there’s the people in your life who love you so much that they will drop everything and pick up a ridiculously ornate wooden cylinder and do their best to clobber some sense into you when you need it.

Friendship like that is rare indeed.

Ah, I am being hailed from below. Time to smooth down the dress, get into character, and get back to work.

Further comments will be found in the official log.

This is Captain Priya Kashmiri, signing off.

And I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.