It's called musing

I muse a bunch on my phone. Although the subject matter may not make sense without context, you aren't getting any context. I take pride in what I am about to show you. Some aren't finished, some don't make complete sense and some even sound kind of creepy, but what I am showing you is the roughest version of my writing you will ever see:
I hate it.
I hate pretty girls. I hate them like I hate steak while I'm fasting. The only major difference is I could eat the steak whenever I want, I just choose not to.


If you are ever really sad, just remember you are probably in need of sleep.


Lois Lane
I'm a typical high school student. Very often in one's high school career, a person has a chance to get romantically involved with someone. People think it's fine to kiss and steady date anyone with good morals, but I don't think that is right. You see, I have a wife somewhere who I love more deeply than any kids in high school can understand. Heck, I'm in it and I don't even understand. So as I figure, she is basically the only woman who fits me perfectly. So what girl can really compare to her?


Strangers think I'm crazy. My friends think I'm outgoing. Trevor and the guys stopped listening to me ages ago because they know me too well.


Disappointed.
It's weird learning incriminating information out about someone you respect. Even if it isn't anything too big, it really sucks. I thought they were perfect, but the perfect perception obscured the imperfections. It shouldn't be something to be sad about. It hurts really bad to know the truth, but I prefer knowledge to happiness. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is wisdom. I could have lived the rest of my life thinking this person was a perfect example, but I would've been completely wrong. It hurts, but ignorance gives false happiness. So my perspective is forever changed, but it's a change for the better.


Book

Chapter 1
On a small dirt road outside of the city there stood a small shed like house and a car garage. The stillness of the one-room house was only broken by the occasional night breeze coming through the only window. Next to the window sat a machine that, although appeared to be off, was always running; it had been for years. The room was barren except the machine and a small mattress.
Through the open window, the sound of a distant, roaring car engine was heard. Under the sound of the car, a faint siren could be heard. The machine's one white light started blinking, slowly at first, but increased in speed as the engine grew louder.
The car appeared to be passing the house until at the last second it swerved into the old garage. The driver jumped out of the car and pulled down the door of the garage. Just as he did, one, two, three police cars passed.
 After ten minutes of the machine flashing like a strobe light, the driver  entered the house. He went to the machine and flipped the switch to turn off the blinking light. He left and came back minutes later with a duffel bag. After he turned on the light, he opened the bag and poured out the contents. Soon the ground was littered with thousands of piles of hundred dollar bills. The man's dark eyes glistened with pride. He sorted the stacks in a bin and opened a door into a small closet. He pulled up the ancient shag carpet and typed a code into the hidden keypad. He pulled up on a small handle in the left corner of the closet, filling the immediate area with a blue light.
"Voice recognition required,"  a calm, almost monotone voice.
"California Girls."
"Voice number 567-A recognized. Welcome home, Samuel James."
The stairs went down only about a floor, but the room below went beyond the limits of the house above. On the floor of the entrance there was and inscription which read, "Only the True-Born Sons of Liberty fight for the freedoms of all men." The walls and the ceiling had white square panels of glass that each glowed just enough to give the room plenty of light. On the wall opposite the stairs, there was a large safe door with a hand scanner. Samuel carried the box full of cash to the safe and scanned his hand.
The safe opened with an intake of breath. Samuel placed the box on top of a stack of three others and closed the safe. The vacuum mechanism activated and soon the safe was completely air-free.
Samuel walked over to a crowded desk and sat down on a worn out chair. Out of his pocket he pulled his halotop and turned it on. Soon the empty space a foot above the desk was filled with a three dimensional desktop. He opened up a program with the name "Data Nexus Alterer" and connected the halodesk to a cord coming from the wall. The screen was filled with A's, G's, C's, and T's. The DNA code was billions of codons long and even when Samuel changed it into just the genes, it was still unmanageable. But thanks to the Data Nexus Alterer program Samuel had made, he could do anything he wanted to the code in moments. He had formulas devised so he could change the height, the weight, the eye color, even the type of belly button.
Samuel was furiously typing when the machine upstairs started beeping rhythmically. He paid no attention to it. He altered everything on the current DNA. Although he was typing with unnatural speed, he did not make one keystroke error. After several minutes, he stopped and examined his work. He changed a few minor details then went upstairs.
The beeping had gotten so furious, it sounded less like individual beeps and more like a constant ringing. With the press of a button, the beeping stopped and the machine started churning. After a few moments, the machine ejected a small vial. Samuel took the vial and sucked up the fluid inside with a needle. Taking a few steps back and to his left, he injected his left arm and immediately fell backwards onto the mattress, fully sedated. The timed lights turned off as the hidden basement door sealed itself.

Chapter 2
"Good morning, Sam," said the monotone voice. "how may I be of service to you?"
"The usual, Gerome: two asprines and a bottle of cherry Coke."
Sam sat up and a hidden tray ejected from the wall. He clumsily grabbed the aspirin with his seemingly huge hands and sipped down the soda. It wasn't the same, the drink. He hadn't had real Coke since he was five. His dad had loved the stuff.
"Gerome, get me the mirror and the test."
"Yes, sir. Sir?"
"Yes?"
"May I say that you look great today. I mean really, it is way better than yesterday."
"You say that everyday, Gerome," Sam said with a






Shool
I hate it. If my classes are hard, I hate it. If my classes are easy, I hate it. The amount of suckiness it entails totally ruins my reasons to be in it. I am in a quitting mood. I am in real need of a motivation boost. Seriously feeling like I'm beating a dead horse (which would be surprisingly satisfying right now.


Unreadable.
If you are reading this without my permission and/or knowledge, please know this is private, rude and insensitive. I am writing this only to let go of my anger. If you have my permission, then I trust you to not judge me. That is a lot of trust. Here it goes.
I hate teenage steady dating. Very often when I see people kissing or putting their arms around each other or anything like that, it makes me mad. When I see people who don't need a relationship and I know know they don't need one, it makes me think less of them. I don't see the wisdom in dating like that. It seems like a selfish way to release pent up hormones. It is so dumb. The blatant disrespect to our church leaders is like a slap to the face. People need to go on more dates with the spirit instead of tongue wrestling a girl.


Trials
There is one truth that has stood the test of time. In history, science, and daily life you can find it: Trials are what promote growth.
Growth and development are the results of a change in the environment. In science, this is called natural selection. As the change gets established, the species must adapt to survive. Imagine a type of mouse with varying colors from tan to grey. This group experiences a sudden change in location, say from the forest to the beach. Now the mice that blend into the sand are safe from predators while the black mice are hawk food. Therefore, the group of mice become dominantly tan in nature, creating a more "fit" species.
The idea that trials promote growth is also true in everyday life. When was the last time you got a reward and thought, "I am doing something wrong." When it comes to our lives, we see that the path we follow is getting bumpy or leads to a ditch, so we try to go onto a different path. Now every time we pass that road, we know it is a bad idea.


A duty unwanted is the best duty you can perform
I have a great Scout Crew. We are all friends, even the leaders. We have a great time when we're together. I get the butt end of most of the jokes. I am the goof off. I tell bad jokes and get a lot of head shaking. I hate it. I want to be taken seriously. I want to entertain but I don't want to be a clown. I could never be an effective missionary, priesthood leader or father if I am a clown all the time. I just hate the lack of respect I get. I jibe with my friends, therefore I am a joke. It would be great to get some respect according to my intelligence level, my comedic flavor and my spiritual comments without the comedy becoming the only thing people remember.
One example is when I taught my mini-lesson. I had a very serious topic to discuss and I had no respect. I asked for everyone to calm down so I could share an emotional experience, but it took the tears in my eyes from thinking of my past sins to actual get my peers to pay attention to the not goof off me. I just need to get some help.


Some of these are pretty old and some are pretty fresh. Regardless, they can all be taken personally in some way. To that end I assure you that I mean nothing personal to anyone. That Trials one was probably written while I was falling asleep. That last paragraph needs help.