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Botcon. Been there. Done that. Yea. That's how it started. And that's how I was tempted to leave it. Somehow, I talked myself into writing more. Though frankly, it's been weeks since the con, and the only thing really worth writing are things...that really aren't worth writing. Still, it gnaws at my gut, and I must release it so I can go on. Move forward. So you actually clicked on the little asterisk under the picture? Well congrats, you found the other secret hidden report. I must warn you, though, that you won't like it. Turn back now, while you still can. ... Still here, huh? Ok, fine. You were warned. For those who are first-timers reading one of these, may I suggest going back and reading previous reports of mine before diving into this one. Those versed in my style can feel free to go on. In the beginning, back when I first started writing these, I sounded like a kid in a candy store. Positive things to say, gumballs and sugerpops all-around. During the Glen years, I remained neutral...as neutral as I could, despite having an opinion. Then there was the first year of Master Collector. I had some things to say, but maintained that the convention was saved by the presense of my friends. This year, even that small solace was taken away. My state of mind being what it is these days, I've found that it's getting harder to remain neutral. What you will read are raw emotions, tempered by what little modicum of good taste I can still muster. For those who might read of themselves in these works, I can only offer you apologies, and the knowledge that time away from it all has tempered these feelings. I can certainly return to a state of normalcy, with no hard feelings. I can only ask you to do the same. ... It was a year of surprises. I met a fellow from across the pond who was absolutely wonderful in-person, completely the opposite of what I was expecting. I am proud to call him a Fellow in the Cause. The fellow who shared his table with me with found entertainment in my unique selling technique. I found solace in that admission. Some are annoyed. I hope to split a table with him again in the future. In point of fact, most of the usual folks were their usual selves, right as rain. Even McBotcon, in all it's greedy souless nature, had managed to be better organised this go-round. However...there were dark clouds that sullied my ordinarily good time. In the past, my friends offset anything negative the convention itself did to me. But what do you do when even your friends aren't there for you? You die inside, that's what. The person who I usually share things with abandoned me this year. I shouldn't take it so personally, yet I do. From not wanting to share a ride down, to not wanting to share a room with me, to not wanting to share our table, to being generally unplesant...this was not the friend I remember. This hurt me, deeply. No apologies necessary, the incidents are now forgotten...though the pain remains. Still my friend, but perhaps not someone I might team up with again, though I wish I knew why. Another friend, busy, understandably, but doesn't stop by anymore to say hello. Perhaps worse than hurt. Entwined in the Corporate Greedcon, I spent time with him finally, had a wonderful time, yet...I wish he would hang out more as well. The weather was lukewarm with still another fellow. It felt as though there was something he wanted to say, yet good taste kept him from doing it. I wonder what the state of relations between us is. Others fell far short of what I remember. Far short. There are those whose parents seemed warmer than their sons, and I have only myself to blame. I should have stopped by to visit more, but clearly I wasn't myself at this point either. I was weighed down by my own perception of events as they unfolded around me. I ponder the significance of a friend who lets another man talk for him when he could speak for himself. I try to talk to the fellow, seeing if there was anything he wants in-exchange for something he just bought. Of course there would be nothing, but I ask, because you just never know. The arrogant prick who tables with him tries to get his words in, and I tell him flat out: Am I talking to *you*? I've endured years of that man, someone who I used to appreciate yet now wish he would just put a sock in it. And then, the two brothers. Friend and foe alike, hanging like vultures awaiting a magnificent feast. I tried mightily not to participate in the saddest moment in history, yet in the end, I was no better. I, too, became that which I had previously despised. Sure, I wasn't the biggest vulture. The fellow who filled a pallet-sized box for himself qualifies for that title. Yet I still participated, under the thin veneer of needing to protect certain key research items. Strip the veneer away, and stomp on all the rationalizations, because in the end it's the materialism at it's core, and nothing else. The hate I feel for others is very probably the hate I should feel for myself. And that's what it is, in the end. Hating oneself. Hating what the fandom has turned me into. The list goes on. And on. So much pain. How does one deal with it? By disconecting. What else can I do? The Convention I knew is gone. My friends, perhaps gone as well. Many were the same, yet those who were not managed to ruin it for me. Or perhaps I ruined it for myself. Perhaps this is the way they've always been, and it's only now that I see it, and find myself wanting. Is this the shape of things to come? And yet. And...yet. The darkness can't swallow you whole. There is always a small, yet bright light shining forth into the darkness. Something, someone to hold onto, that which makes even the absolute blackness of your own soul bearable. Friends. New friends. Old friends. Acquaintenses becoming friends. Old friends getting better acquainted. That was my bright spot, my shining light. Sharing a facet of myself with others to whom I had not shared previously. I fanned those flames, and it burst forth into, dare I say it, a moment of pure happiness! Not ith the same people, but with new people. Was that the answer, then? If it takes moving forward, then move forward you must. Away from the darkness. Away from the pain. No matter the cost. But then, in the end, there is the materialism, the competition, the percieved hype. The darkness descends again, this time worse than before. You struggle to find a friend to hold onto, only to have crass consumerism shove you back into the inky darkness. You suffer. You hurt. The small bright light is gone. And once again, the thrill is, perhaps, gone. So now, more than ever, I turn back, turn away, to remember a happier time, a time when the heartache and loss weren't so readily apparent. A simpler time. An innocent time. When the convention was run by love, and my friends were there by my side. I miss those times. I cherish them. But I will move forward as well. I have to. To stand still is to die.
And I've already done that once. |