I sure hope I still remember the con stuff tomorrow, because I need to blog like normal today and that is more important than producing a con report right now.

We are one sick household.

Julian is still not entirely over his lung infection – he has that lingering phlegm thing that seems so common these days. So he’s not out of the woods yet, poor thing.

Joe got sick last Saturday and ended up spending the Saturday and Sunday of the convention asleep between bouts of cold fucking sweat in our hotel room.

And that’s just plain not fair. You know what I mean? That’s the universe playing dirty pool. And it makes me feel so helpless.

I want to be able to leap into the fray and slay this demon for him, but that’s not how reality works. More’s the pity.

It reminds me of when my brother got strep throat then mononucleosis in college. He spent two months barely able to stay awake for more than one hour out of twelve. All that education got poured down the drain because he caught that goddamned bug.

Joe’s infection hung on without getting better all the way to today, and so, as one is supposed to do with anything that causes a fever for three days or more, he went to the hospital. Julian drove him there, the dear.

And they said they thought it was a viral lung infection and that he should just take some ibuprofen and wait it out.

I have severe doubts about that diagnosis. I am pretty sure that if his immune system could handle this shit on its own, it would have done so by now. To me, it is clear that his immune system needs a boost.

I haven’t told him this, of course. It would be worse than senseless to add to his worries and his doubts.

But I am poised to pounce if he gets worse. I will kick ass by the pound if my dear friend whom I love so much is harmed by a lazy fucking diagnosis.

I’m locked and loaded, Commander. Ready to fire on your command.

And as for me, I am definitely fighting something off. My throat is sore and scratchy and I have a heavy feeling in my chest and I feel tired in that very specific way that comes from my body beng locked in deadly combat with an infection of some sort.

I really hope it wins. Post-convention depression is bad enough without a nasty cold or flu making things worse. I feel like I want to drink a gallon of orange juice then hide from the world with a bottle of hand sanitizer and an IV drip of Chicken Fricot.

It’s an Acadian chicken stew. Kind of like chicken soup on turbo steroids.

Great, now I am craving it so hard I am drooling. It’s SOO GOOOD.

Overall, I enjoyed my time at the convention. I got to be more sociable than usual, even if sometimes I had to more or less force myself to dive in. I chatted with people I don’t know, as well as people I only know from previous conventions.

And I had a very long and fascinating discussion with someone who is part of the Vancouver kink scene and has been for a long time. He ran some of the ‘adults only’ panels I attended, and after one, I humbly and politely asked him to recommend a starting point for someone like me who wants to enter said community.

Sidebar : I feel dumb for not realizing until now that ‘kink’ and ‘BDSM’ are not the same thing and that the kink community is exactly the kind of pro-sex open environment I have been looking for all these years.

I have zero interest in BDSM, but I am kinky as fuck nevertheless.

Anyhow, the first time I asked this person for a starting point, it was just after midnight and he was way too tired to remember the name of the “munch” I was seeking.

No prob. I asked him against at the Dead Dog party, which is the convention-ending party on Sunday Night where everyone gets together for close association, alcoholic libations, and great conversation.

And he gave me the name – Westside Munch – and we ended up having a simply marvelous conversation in which we discovered that we had a lot of the same spiritual beliefs about sex, intimacy, and the magic that happen when people drop their bullshit long enough to be human with one another.

I came away from that feeling great, because I had never really shared my ideas on that with anyone and to share them with someone who “got” them was a joy.

Is that what church feels like to the devout?

Because I can totally see the appeal.

The ball’s in my court now. The next munch is November 6. I have until then to work up the nerve to go to it and face a whole bunch of people I don’t know who already have their own cliques and might not be super welcoming to an odd interloper like myself.

Or they might be super awesome and make me feel like I am home at last.

Either way, walking through that door will not be easy for me. But I am sick of picking the path of least resistance all the time. The path of least resistance sucks. I want to get somewhere in life and that means expanding my world and letting reality in, even if that means surrendering control to fate some of the time.

I can’t control all outcomes.

I can’t command the universe to follow my plan.

I can’t guarantee that I will always be okay.

And there is no such thing as the perfect plan, one so brilliant and thorough that nothing can go wrong and I will have finally conquered a cold and hostile world with the amazing power of my hyperintelligent brain.

All I can do is make the best choices I can and let the chips fall where they may.

I will surrender to reality.

I will live without certainty.

I will accept that it is impossible to eliminate all risk.

And I will tell myself, as many times as it takes, that some things are worth the pain.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.