But I brought one with me on the flight, _The Name of the Wind_ (by Patrick Rothfuss), and read a third of it on my way here, enjoying it muchly. And y'know, as much as I appreciate the convenience of a Kindle while traveling, there is something very pleasing about pulling out a book when you get in the security line, and reading it all the way through the airport (pausing briefly at actual security), while waiting to get on the plane, on the plane (with no need to stop when everyone else is turning off their electronic devices), and off again, all the way until you get into your taxi. And no, I don't bump into people when I walk and read at the same time, even in a crowded airport. I'm like a bat. Or else, people give the weird lady reading a book while walking (and pulling a suitcase) a wide berth. That could be too.
And then I arrived at the hotel, met up with Jed, swung by some parties, went to sleep, slept eight glorious hours, woke up and ordered room service (which always feels so decadent), and have kept reading for the last few hours. I've just met the beautiful girl (along with our protagonist), and I know I should shower and dress and go collect my badge and start doing convention-type things, attending panels and such, but this feels like such a gift. I love the rest of my life, and I do miss Kevin and the kids already, but there is a part of me that was very firmly formed as a teenager, a part that thinks the absolutely best thing you could possibly do with your time is curl up in a comfy bed with a nice, fat fantasy novel for hours upon hours on end. With tea.
I'm not going to go get dressed quite yet.