Well, I can't say anything exciting happened to me today. Unlike last year, I didn't find myself in a parking lot after midnight, getting ready for an hour's drive home. Thankfully, the cab fare from Newark to Staten Island isn't as steep as with JFK, so I got to go home the same way I flew . . . going in and out of a coma. It's weird . . . I never feel a need to nap during a comic con, but as soon as it's over, I plop on the bed at the hotel and chill for about an hour.
It was nice to come home, where I found a "No Video Input" indicator on my television, and where I was greeted with over seven hours of darkness on tape where televised programs should be. Now I'm thankful to Bob and Kathy for letting me watch Survivor at their place, because I would have missed that. I need a DVR. I'd ask my mother about me pitching in money per month, but a. It might be a lot, b. I seldom find myself needing to watch two programs at the same time since I got videotape, and c. After shipping my meds overnight -- her idea, by the way -- my mother might hold that against me.
Once again, I question whether I'm getting too old for conventions. My mother didn't say anyth ing about it, though she did make fun of a guy in a picture that I took who dressed up as Sinestro. I like going to cons, and I like having adventures, even though I usually get bored half of the time. As for the stuff that goes wrong? I need to stop hurting myself by being more responsible, cutting down on my mistakes along the way. I guess that in the big picture, I still like going to conventions, problems and all.
I'm going to decompress tomorrow. Wednesday, it's back to the grind of looking for work and working out at the gym. Oh, ad uploading all of the sketches onto my Flickr and ComicArtFans accounts. That alone should keep me busy for days.