I’m having trouble reading any of my friends journals this week. they’re all fucking sqeeeeing about journalcon.
I’ve always said, one of my life rules is that I’d rather regret what I did than regret what I didn’t do. That’s central to who I am and always will be. I’ll do things in life I should not, I’ll do things I need to apologize for. I’ll do things, now and then, for which I need forgiveness.
But this was a case where I chose to regret what I didn’t do, and I’m reminded why I hate that choice. I had good reasons for avoiding j-con this year, let’s say, family maintenance that needed doing. I had to make a call, audible at the line of scrimmage. And you know, I guess I did the right thing.
But I’m fucking sad when I read Ray’s or Trance’s or Fredlet’s accounts of j-con. There were people there I really, really wanted to meet, really wanted to see. I’ve been looking forward to having an i love you man session with Brutha Ray for months and months. I miss him, he’s too far away.
Sigh. And Sigh.
Hey, Ray? Let’s not wait til next year. I just gotta figure out how to get my ass to Austin, or New Orleans, or something.