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