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Jensen saying “You found him” at least once a con when someone has a question for someone specific. 
Unearned rimshots at dumb jokes that Jared can’t quite seem to ever get.
The butterfly feeling you get when you get close enough in line to hear the music from the op room.
LOU-DEN SWAIN!!!! LOU-DEN SWAIN!!! LOU-DEN SWAIN!!!
Friday people are the best people.
Really ugly carpet and beige walls.
Hugging someone you haven’t seen since this time last year.
The feeling of finally taking a breath when you *leave* the op room.
Searching the table for your own face and simultaneously scoping out everyone else’s photos.
The click of the hotel door when you leave your room to embark on Sunday
.
.
The butterflies you get when you’re close enough in the auto line to see a hand holding a (two hundred dollar) sharpie.
“Aaaaannny way you want it, that’s the way you need it, any way you want it.”
Christopher Schmelke.
Billy soundlessly noodling on his fretboard for 60 minutes.
Seeing Scott Villages being a celebrity in front of her table for an entire weekend.
Leaning against a wall watching people leave the op room coated in a bright sheen of adrenaline and glee.
Watching other hotel patrons turn to each other and ask “was that person wearing......wings?” “Did you see that blood on her neck?” “What the hell is going on down there? They have have a knife made of teeth.”
Seeing my friends.
If the 2019 Novel Coronavirus could briefly transform into a person, I would absolutely grab a pair of brass knucks and go to work until I either felt better, or ran too much out of breath to continue.
End of story.
End of story.
There’s something unquantifiable about being in a giant room with so many people on the same wavelength. Especially when you’ve spent a majority of your time on this rock feeling out of place.
It’s....it’s just something else.
It’s....it’s just something else.
(Even if, granted, a large portion of those people would eviscerate this entire feeling if you were speaking to one another online. We just skip that.)
