note from noteville

for some strange reason we’re all layed back and telling these intense ghost stories, and everyone seems to be okay with it. the only radio station we can get is dedicated to playing strictly xmas music for the next 96 hours. I’m getting through the hours one at a time, getting ready to go home, at least mentally, and relax. why worry about all the crap that’s going on. tune out to it somehow. their conversations are running on, this isn’t solitude, I can’t write with full concentration… like this guy is coming up to me letting me know that I can check my email from any computer that has an internet connection… I tell him that I know, and that I’ve got that joint already hooked up and can’t remember what the hell I wanted to write next.