All this staying at home doesn’t bother me. I can watch an episode of Xena, or read another chapter of whatever SF/F novel I’m currently engrossed in, or replay Portal 2 without feeling guilty that I should be doing Something More Important. (Imagine that last bit being exaggeratedly pronounced in a deep, booming, announcer voice.) But I’d give up it all up–loose pants, uncombed hair, and bare feet–if I could go to a hyper-chaotic, geeky convention. Three days scrounging food of unknown origin from the con suite, talking reading recommendations with random elves, getting directions to the anime room from the Mother of Dragons (It said so on her shirt.) as her dragon slept in his stroller.

In addition to Minicon and Convergence, which I’ve gone to for years, I was set to attend my first Miscon in Missoula, MT. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get my usual con wardrobe of kilts, leather jackets, and boots crammed into a single suitcase; but I’m a creative person with lots of experience loading a dishwasher. And maybe I could wear my MacPherson Red knife pleat over my camo box pleat on the plane. Sigh. I have another year to figure it out.