Hereby Resolved

Next year before Bouchercon*, I resolve to

• not work so hard beforehand that I get a cold the day before
• not take an out-of-date discount store Nyquil the first evening and fail to drink or eat enough and hence scare the crap out of Wallace Stroby by blacking out in the lobby (pal Christine McCann wasn't fazed, because she's seen me burst into tears at the news of my German book rights sale and develop a spontaneous gusher of a nosebleed - and she has four younger sisters)
• learn to use my camera before I leave, and charge up all batteries (at least I knew to buy spare memory cards and to take a spare camera)
• buy a few more clothes so I don't have to be inventive about clothing combinations
• get in shape so I can play basketball (gad, how I was itching to) instead of take photos
• look in my name-tag envelope and find my last-day brunch ticket so I don't have to talk one of the basketball players at the door into letting me in without it (thank you, tall basketball player from Naomi's team whose name I don't know)
• not take a flight home that goes through Seattle then changes in Chicago then runs late and gets me home at 2.30 am, which my dogs thinks means it's time to play and torment me for leaving them so long

But otherwise - perhaps other than cloning myself so I can go to more than one panel at a time - not much else I would change. It was a sublime experience, and I give thanks to all who helped make it so. You know who you are.
*I know it's rude of me to assume everyone knows what Bouchercon is - it's a supreme convention of mystery writers and fans and others, occurring every year in a different city.