What the Hell happened anyway?

Well, this time a week ago I was sitting in the waiting area at the Colbert Report. At least, I think I was. Did I dream it? Was it real? It certainly doesn't feel like it was. It all went by so quickly, and it's leaving my memory just as quick. I find it hard to remmeber a lot of it, except being afraid for my life at that gas station in the Bronx (I think it was the Bronx, anyway. We were lost) at 3am. That one is still quite vivid. Also, there's the memory of actually sitting in the waiting area, and I was staring at the TCR logo on the blue number card they gave me. All I could think was wow, I'm actually here. But now, those memories have that silvery sheen to them, that fleeting memories of dreams sometimes have. I know it was real, though. I have tangible proof. Stephen Colbert and Paul Dinello signed my copy of Wigfield. I think. Let me check. Yep, their scribbled signatures are still there. So that's proof I was there, right? I was in the hallowed halls of the studio. From my vantage point, I tried to take in everything. All the little doodads on the shelves. Stephen Jr's nest. Captain America's shield hangs proudly on the wall. I have my memory of that, and still I'm disappointed. I'm not really sure what it was I expected. I was hoping for a better seat. I was hoping to shake Stephen's hand. I didn't want to be as nervous as I was. I wanted Stephen to know who I was. I know that one is huge, and totally unreasonable, but it's true. Maybe the fact that he didn't have a clue who I was is why I'm so disappointed in the trip. Perhaps I should take it as it is, a trip. An experience, because it definately was an experience. But I still want a do over.