That was the Arisia that was.
It was exhausting. I am never again letting this convention schedule me for an early morning/late night commute, especially when it puts me on even more panels than I asked for. But allowing for the fact that I slept no more than eight hours from Friday to Monday total and that includes the two afternoons I crashed for some unconscious blot of time in other people's hotel rooms, I think it went very well. That's not a Mrs. Lincoln. I got to see![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derspatchel as Tom Stevens in the Post-Meridian Radio Players' The Day the Earth Stood Still, a smug Fifties gender-blinkered schmuck in a perfectly fine tie for once (I like the awful ones better). I moderated a panel on a formative author at ten in the morning and ran the experiment of reading from an in-progress story in hopes it would kick the thing into finishing itself already. I heard Sassafrass and Stranger Ways. I was on four panels with cucumberseed in the same room and really we should just have pitched a tent. (I accidentally synopsized an urban fantasy novel at one of them. I kind of want someone else to write it and I kind of want to see if I can.) I sat at the end of a fourth-floor hallway with rushthatspeaks and it was one of the nicest things that happened all con. At least ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kate_nepveu and I have now realized we should have been reading one another for years now. I baked and glazed a lemon cake at two-something in the morning. I bought the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's Dark Adventure Radio Theatre Presents: The Call of Cthulhu (2012) with a store discount left over from three years ago at Pandemonium and then Matthew Timmins and I stared in amazement and appreciation at the amount of material culture included with the CD. I drank a lot of instant cocoa in the con suite and the green room and had dinner at the hotel bar twice, once with Kesslers, once with gaudior, both times with entertainingly named cocktails, and failed all three days of my programming to eat anything before five o'clock in the evening, which is not a plan going forward. I was asked to read my poem "The Clock House" to close the centenary panel on Alan Turing. This year, the con crud did not even wait until the day after to hit.
I ran most of my panels on adrenaline. Last night Rob and I went to Cuchi Cuchi for his birthday (the Indian lamb, the burning rosemary, the Avenue) and tonight we are attending Burns Night at the Skellig (at which I metratatosk last year) and then I want to see if I can manage not to move for a couple of days. Or talk to anyone, possibly. That's all right.
This is better than last year.
It was exhausting. I am never again letting this convention schedule me for an early morning/late night commute, especially when it puts me on even more panels than I asked for. But allowing for the fact that I slept no more than eight hours from Friday to Monday total and that includes the two afternoons I crashed for some unconscious blot of time in other people's hotel rooms, I think it went very well. That's not a Mrs. Lincoln. I got to see
derspatchel as Tom Stevens in the Post-Meridian Radio Players' The Day the Earth Stood Still, a smug Fifties gender-blinkered schmuck in a perfectly fine tie for once (I like the awful ones better). I moderated a panel on a formative author at ten in the morning and ran the experiment of reading from an in-progress story in hopes it would kick the thing into finishing itself already. I heard Sassafrass and Stranger Ways. I was on four panels with cucumberseed in the same room and really we should just have pitched a tent. (I accidentally synopsized an urban fantasy novel at one of them. I kind of want someone else to write it and I kind of want to see if I can.) I sat at the end of a fourth-floor hallway with rushthatspeaks and it was one of the nicest things that happened all con. At least kate_nepveu and I have now realized we should have been reading one another for years now. I baked and glazed a lemon cake at two-something in the morning. I bought the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society's Dark Adventure Radio Theatre Presents: The Call of Cthulhu (2012) with a store discount left over from three years ago at Pandemonium and then Matthew Timmins and I stared in amazement and appreciation at the amount of material culture included with the CD. I drank a lot of instant cocoa in the con suite and the green room and had dinner at the hotel bar twice, once with Kesslers, once with gaudior, both times with entertainingly named cocktails, and failed all three days of my programming to eat anything before five o'clock in the evening, which is not a plan going forward. I was asked to read my poem "The Clock House" to close the centenary panel on Alan Turing. This year, the con crud did not even wait until the day after to hit.I ran most of my panels on adrenaline. Last night Rob and I went to Cuchi Cuchi for his birthday (the Indian lamb, the burning rosemary, the Avenue) and tonight we are attending Burns Night at the Skellig (at which I met
ratatosk last year) and then I want to see if I can manage not to move for a couple of days. Or talk to anyone, possibly. That's all right.This is better than last year.
