Y

ou could call me a socializing 
addict. I’m not an extrovert — 
though I am extroverted. I’m 

not an introvert — though I crave my 
alone time. I fall somewhere in the 
middle (I think many of us do), with a 
slight tilt on the extroverted side. The 
thing is, people are wonderful. And 
though I crave myself, people teach 
me about myself, and so I crave them 
all the more — their idiosyncrasies, 
foibles, hugs and shrugs. I have to be 
around it. I need to be around it. Some-
times I don’t even know why, and I sac-
rifice my own wellbeing for the high. 
Alack: addiction.

“Flavor of the Weak” — American 

Hi-Fi

The philosophy my mind has adopt-

ed these past three hazy years in Ann 
Arbor is that this is college, and this 

is the time for ballyhoo. When will my 
best friends and I be within a virtual 
arms-length of each other ever again? 
And in a bustling town with lights 
and clubs and people-filled streets all 
around us? And those sweaty, dark 
house parties and boxed wine and 
drunken conversation about the holi-
ness of “Stacy’s Mom” and other early-
2000s sonic relics? I can’t miss those 
things. I just can’t.

“Stacy’s Mom” — Fountains of 

Wayne

Right now, it’s a Friday night. I’m 

sitting in my room — in an apartment 
that houses six girls, five of whom have 
gone out — dead alone. And I’m trying 
my best to make it alive alone.

I just got off the Ferris wheel that 

was my craziest week of the semester: a 
huge English paper, an original sonnet 

and ekphrastic poem, five nights in a 
row of work, a photo shoot, a film to see 
and review, and smiles, endless smiles, 
to present to the world throughout it 
all. In essence, I am utterly exhausted, 
and a few hours ago I was making plans 
from my bed until I realized I literally 
could not get up from my bed. So I did 
something I most certainly never do: I 
sent my best friend a text that said I’d 
be taking a rain check for the night to 
lay low. Sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry. 
I owe you one.

“Sorry” — Simple Plan

Now what? I haven’t left my bed. 

Social media has given me all it could 
for the evening. I just pulled out the 
poems I wrote and discussed with 
my brilliant professor this morning, 
three classes and a pile of No Thai ago, 
though it feels like a lifetime. He loved 
the poems, and I teared up as he was 
complimenting me. Poetry is some-
thing I want to be good at. I recite them 
aloud in my room, as if I’m Dorothy 
Parker or Truman Capote at a reading. 
I’m in New York; I’m draped in pearls, 
a black turtleneck. I’ve got just enough 
age in my face to be respected, but 
enough youth left to be felt. People like 
my writing. People cheer after those 
last few lines.

“Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous” 

— Good Charlotte

Oh, there’s my MC5 poster. I’m still 

in my room, and the Franzia is gone. 
I’ve still only written two good poems 
in my life, by other people’s standards.

There it is again: people. People are 

still plaguing my thoughts. How in the 
hell did Emily Dickinson do it? It was 
just her and her flowers and the immi-
nence of death. And J.D. Salinger? 
He didn’t leave his house for, what, 
50 years? What was there to do? To 
see? Ironically, in writing about these 
recluses, I am still writing about peo-
ple. Somebody stop me.

“In Too Deep” — Sum 41

OK, let me shavasana (a yoga position 

in which you lay on your back and do 
nothing) for a minute here. Just feel my 
heart beating. My hands and my head.

I am spectacularly alone, and I am 

writing. The only activity that — every 
single damn time — makes me feel sane. 
It’s my other favorite addiction. And I 
do feel sane right now. And thankful. 
And for the first time in a long time I 
don’t want anyone to come back to the 
apartment. I want to be here with my 
pen and diary and fingers and key-
board until I get it so right that I can’t 
hear applause anymore — I can just see 
the words in front of me.

3B
Wednesday, November 9, 2016 / The Statement 

Life Is A Mixtape: On Spending the Night Alone

B Y M E L I N A G L U S A C

“I want you to know and I want you to spread the 
word: I want to be president for all Americans. Not 
just some. None of us want to wake up Wednesday 
morning and wish we had done more.”

—HILLARY CLINTON, former secretary of state, in a final campaign speech in 
Raleigh, N.C.., on Tuesday, Nov. 8.

on the record: closing arguments

“It’s going to be the very beginning of the new 
adventure. The new adventure is making America 
great again. If we don’t win, this will be the single 
greatest waste of time, energy and money in my 
life. We have to win.” 

— DONALD TRUMP, in a final campaign speech in Grand Rapids, Mich., on 
Tuesday, Nov. 8.

“Donald Trump is uniquely unqualified to hold 
this job. But the good news, Michigan, is you are 
uniquely qualified to make sure he does not get 
the job. And the good news is, you don’t just have 
to vote against something — you actually have a 
candidate who’s worthy of your vote.”

—PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA in a final campaign speech in Ann Arbor, 
Mich., on Tuesday, Nov. 8.

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILIE FARRUGIA

