Hushed Whispers

This is just some stream-of-consciousness I wrote last night as my mind wandered during a symposium I attended for extra credit.

Hushed whispers float to the tall, tall ceiling.
It's Friday night; what am I doing here?
What would I be doing if I wasn't here?
At least I'm somewhere.
Company.
This company is a 1.5 on a scale from boringdryspeechprofessor to Lady GaGa.
So many 1/3 bald heads.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.6.7.8.
9.10.11...
It's an epidemic!
If I wasn't here, where would I want to be?
I would be warm. I would be sitting by a fire, the flames jumping delicately as I turn the pages of a cherished book.
Steaming hot cocoa in hand, I give no thought to the whirlwind of intricacies which weave together the fibers of my existence, my world.
For I am immersed, absorbed, engulfed in the world of my novel.