So, today, kaffeeklatch at 9am -- packed, awesome people, really fun. Followed by breakfast with Geoff Ryman, talked about writing, pacing, movies about women with power and how they are misrepresented. Then a trip to the dealers room, followed by reading first chapter of _Turnover_ to a packed room, who all seemed to like it. Heartening. Then sat down in the lobby for five minutes which turned into three hours of rotating conversation with awesome people, old friends, new friends, talked about where modern SF poetry is coming from (Strange Horizons via Lone Star Stories and Goblin Fruit to Stone Telling...) and Pico and which cons to choose and books and everything. Lovely. I have such great friends and they know such great people.
Then a cruise on the river and out to the lake, awesome Chicago skyline, amazing company of writers. Talked to Rachel Swirsky, Daniel Abraham, Ty Franck, Walter Jon Williams and Kathy Hedges. Went to get what was possibly another drink too many and talked to Robert Silverberg about losing Hugos. Occurred to me that if either my actual or fictional fifteen year old self could have seen this as a vision would have assumed it was heaven. Had drunk enough red wine to actually say this to Silverberg, who said "Well, isn't it?"
Yes. Except better...
I could still wake up and it could all be a dream, "Methought I was... methought I had..." because really, really, I expect the "SN" in "SNAFU" to stand, I distrust being happy and expect and deal well with disasters.
Worldcon. Wow. (That you're not here too is all that lets me know it's real.)