A curious thing happened during my Seattle stay for Emerald City Comic Con, which just finished last night. (I got back at 10pm, and pretty much went straight to bed, exhausted from the entire experience of a five-day trip for a four-day convention. It was a lot.) I realized that, despite being on an entire trip for a comic convention, I hadn’t actually read more than one comic during the entire time I was gone.
This is, to be blunt, particularly unusual, because when not traveling, I find myself reading a few comic books per day, whether for work or while unwinding at the end of the day to try and let my brain slow down so that I could fall asleep. That wasn’t what happened on this trip, though; instead, I was getting back from the convention center with my head buzzing from everything that had happened that day at the show — whether work-related, or some other random thing that was just sticking in my head for whatever reason — and then going through the notes I’d made at this panel or that one, or some other work-related activity, until I got so tired that I basically crawled under the covers and fell asleep.
There was only one night — oddly enough, the first night of the entire convention, the second night of the trip — where I read comics, and even then, I found it something that I had trouble concentrating on. My head was elsewhere. (Mostly, on struggling to concentrate, and wanting to fall asleep.)
This all probably says a lot about the complete failure of work/life balance when I’m on a work trip by myself, as does the fact that I’d wake up after a restless night at something like 5am and then start going back through notes or trying to write up a story or at least think of one, really reinforces that. I am my own worst enemy, even when I’m trying not to be.