This morning is the kind of morning where, if I allowed myself to, I could become angry at the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Why? Well, it’s Friday of the week before WorldCon. If you were to go burrowing through the back-pages of this blog you’d find that periodically over the years, this is the day when I’d be on a plane already, headed for Sydney and then Oakland.

I’d be landing at SFO to be met by Charles and whomever drove him over that day (Jenny, Amelia, Liza, someone). Most likely he’d meet me holding a copy of the pages of the latest issue of Locus, which he’d thrust into my hands so I could get a sneak peek. Although the *only* thing I could possibly want would be a shower, Charles would nonetheless have lunch planned and shopping and whatever else (dr’s appts, buying gas, anything), as we drove around the Bay.

Eventually I’d end up clomping down the stairs to the dreaded murphy bed and a weekend or so of sitting around and talking and drinking and laughing and reading, of a little shopping, some restaurants, and such. I think that time – the days before WorldCon – are my “happy place”. I have such fond, fond memories of them. The parties we’d have, the things we’d do, which were at least as much the attraction of going to the US as any convention we might have gone to.

Those days are gone. I have friends in the Bay Area who I love to see, and the house is still there too, but that all ended in July 2008. The conventions are emptier now, the trips to the US a little less exciting, and I get angry that it didn’t have to have happened so soon. I wish I were on that plane….