Yes! I live! San Diego Comic-Con kicked my ass all up and down the street, but I survived the brutal assault of the USA's largest pop-culture convention. Every night, coming back from the con, I felt like I'd been beaten with a length of steel pipe, but in a good way.
I met a whole bunch of very cool people while I was there, and came back with a handful of business cards in my pocket. (Possibly the coolest moment was meeting Cullen Bunn, writer of the excellent Oni series The Damned and The Sixth Gun, not five minutes after stepping out of the airport into the San Diego sun.) I sat through several panels, some of which were more useful than others, and others of which served as impromptu naptimes. I received no fewer than four Scott Pilgrim shirts, none of which I had to pay for (at least, not in money). I shook probably a dozen peoples' hands, and am thus now probably carrying several new diseases. And I also spent something like $180 on comics, and thus my suitcase on the return flight probably caused the plane to tilt to one side on the tarmac.
But I'm alive, and it was a hell of a lot of fun, and I don't regret going at all. As an 'aspiring comics writer' (whatever that's worth), networking is key, and if you're going to network anywhere, Comic-Con is probably the place to do it. I certainly can't afford to go every year, and in terms of what I want to do, I should probably start going to smaller conventions instead, where the focus is less on movies and video games about comics and more on, you know, comics. But that's a bridge I'll cross eventually. Right now I'm just happy to be home and not surrounded by sweaty nerds.