This time last year, and perhaps well, most to all of the years, I was panicking and overworked and trying to do 900 things. But I kind of enjoy that feeling of absurd productivity and exhaustion, is that bad?  It makes me feel relevant. Like I am maximizing on my minutes?But I fantasized about having a day with nothing to do.  And now find myself with something I never thought I would have again, LESS COMMITMENTS, MORE TIME. Like little pockets of it to practice the piano and read BOOKS. But I  don’t know what to fully do with it the Time. I worry about wasting it. Last night I dreamt I was in a concert hall to see a symphony. As they played, water swelled underneath them until they were floating, and then the water took over the whole space until I was also floating, then the pond became a wave pool, then a tsunami, but a gentle kind that didn’t threaten to kill as we suddenly all had snorkels and oxygen tanks. We just keep listening to the star violinist who was now a fish type person. We weren’t scared, we just swam and heard, undulated. I think myself is telling myself to just move through the time, that it doesn’t have to be thrilling or terrifying or even important, that it can just be time spent listening.