San Diego Comic-Con is now over, and I'm writing to you as a broken shell of a fangirl. I'm broke. My feet are numb and bleeding due to my unfortunate shoe selection. I no longer remember what sleep is. I've suffered days of stomachaches due to starvation. I'm not exactly sure what it was all for because I came away having failed in my coverage and failed in my sheer fandom.

For many, Comic-Con is about work. You're either there manning tables, handing out posters or postcards, doing line management, or doing the press circuit. Obviously, that was me this year, and I had cherished hopes of being able to balance fandom and professionalism. I honestly believed that I'd be able to duck down to Hall H and watch Warner Bros. bring out the Jonah Hex trailer, and then somehow run back up to take my place as Lois Lane. Somewhere around Friday morning, as I earned another bruise and found myself facing down Gary Oldman, I realized this wasn't going to happen. That said, I realize you've just read that as a terrible name drop and are thinking "But I'd love to talk to Gary Oldman! Quit your complaining!"

Well, of course you would. Who wouldn't! I got into this strange and nebulous profession because I am a fan, and because I dreamed of experiences like the ones I've already had. I wanted to be that eyewitness reporter to the world of movies and the people who make them, and I've been very lucky in my experiences so far. But I find myself missing the world of "ordinary" fandom, and it was bizarre and bittersweet to spend four days in San Diego and not attend a single panel. Whereas everyone I know has been seeing the sights of Avatar, Where the Wild Things Are, and Kick-Ass, I've been sitting in roundtable rooms feeling the floor rumble up from Hall H and thinking "Well, it sounds cool." It was even harder to get so very close to seeing Iron Man 2, but missing it due to a ticketing snafu.