When the wheel turns under your hand, you must watch your words

That was an amazing Readercon.

I wasn't necessarily expecting it to be. I was coming into it exhausted, sleeping worse than I had in months and really not recovered from the holiday; I had a room at the hotel for the second two nights only, so I was looking at a painfully early morning of public transit on my first day of programming and I'd made no plans to meet up with anyone. I was prepared for it to be the kind of convention where I was simply there and I'd make up the really interesting stuff the next year.

I was greeted with a fifth of Kraken rum (and a bottle of ginger beer to pour it into) and sent off with a copy of Ian Tregillis' Bitter Seeds (2010). And in the interim—

( Cut for a lot of very nice things. )

—in other words, this entire weekend could have been tailor-made as a refutation of Tiny Wittgenstein and it doesn't matter that I was falling-down tired every minute or there were people I didn't get to see or the littlest toenail on my right foot came off, as it did for no apparent reason on Friday night; I was happy. I still am, in a kind of vague, wiped out, very reclusive way. I'm sure I'm forgetting things. I'm going to remember a lot, and fondly. I think it's important that I do.

I am going back to ignoring everything first, though.