I really ought to stop reading con reports

It rarely fails to happen:

1. I go to a con.
2. I feel good for having gone to the con and having had a good time.
3. I read the con reports, see myself totally absent, and get really depressed.

This continuously amazes me, given that I've done some things over the years I thought were highly conspicuous. I once coordinated the smuggling of a sousaphone into OVFF. I have run cons. I have done concerts complete with costume changes and choreography. I've tried to make a sanitary napkin with wings fly while on stage. I've brought an insufferably cute dog to cons.

This time even the dog didn't get mentioned.

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I really ought to stop reading con reports

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