Is it that I don't have time to dream like this anymore on my normal day-job enforced schedule, whereas now that I'm back in space with no mandatory time constraints for a while, it's possible again? Last night, the scenario was one in which I was being pulled in to understudy the role of Nick in a Broadway stage adaptation of The Great Gatsby; it's not even that I'd been cast as the understudy, it's just that neither of the usual people could go on that night and I knew the novel well enough and could also pass as what they were looking for on stage. It's like I'm cycling through all of the things dear to me in random order, and very disruptively, too. This one was anxiety-inducing rather than grief-inducing, as I literally had no warning ahead of being dragged to a rehearsal that was just a couple of hours before curtain-up. What's disturbing is how real these dreams seem.