How best to I sum up this weekend? This way: 16 hours of programming vs. 19 hours of sleep. The greatest lesson I learned is that when asked to be Guest of Honor at a con, limit your programming to >10 hours. I only skipped one panel – Friday afternoon, a panel on Peter's work, and I only skipped it because I was exhausted, and because I'd already been on an almost identical panel at noon that day. I even got Peter's blessing before skipping the panel. Had I not missed it, I'd have returned home after 17 hours of programming vs. 19 hours of sleep. It will be at least one day before I have recovered, physically and mentally, from the con. Susan Straub told me to take two days, but there's already email in my inbox insisting it has to be dealt with today. Fuck it, Dude. Let's go bowling. I hate this "job."

We were going to stay in Burlington until this morning, but, instead, waited until sunset and came home last night. Kathryn and I both wanted to wake up in our own beds.

LiveJournal truly has died, hasn't it? Those of us who remain are crypt keepers, I think. Ah, well. That's a better profession than writing.

I'll try to post some sort of summation of the experience, thoughts on Readercon 23, but it'll likely be tomorrow before I do. Maybe I can even find a handful of photographs I don't loathe. Which is going to be a challenge. But, as I have said repeatedly, I don't do "con reports."

Friday night, I did a podcast with Peter, Gary Wolfe, and Jonathan Strahan (Jonathan was in Perth, Australia, and so was there via Skype; Skype still freaks me out, by the way). You can hear the podcast here. I haven't listened to it yet; I might later.

I was good and bought not one single book. Then again, I only made it into the dealer's room once, and that was about fifteen minutes before my signing on Saturday.

I have decided I hate the tattoo. Well, not the tattoo itself. The design is perfect, as is the placement, and the sentiment. But as it heals it's turning that hideous blue-green that always makes me think of drunken marines on shore leave. Obviously, this poses problems, likely of the sort that cannot ever be resolved*. I was very fucking specific about wanting black/grey work.

Oh, and I came back to the news that a brilliant friend has cancer. And there was also Neil Clarke's heart attack** during the con, which rather makes all my kvetching here rather petty.

Okay, gonna go lie down or something. Er...after the email.

Knackered,
Aunt Beast

* Note that I did NOT get the tattoo on a whim nor impulsively. I took years deciding if it was right to do this. Too bad I didn't take at least a month to be certain I had the proper artist.

** He is out of ICU and recovering.