You 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. Sometimes I don’t even know why, and I sacrifice my own wellbeing for the high. Alack: addiction.
Sometimes I call myself a “sonic youth.” It’s become a bit of a pet name this first month of school — a pep name, if you will — that reminds me I am still a crisp young gun, traipsing the sunny streets of Ann Arbor with as much musicality as possible. But also, I’ve been into Sonic Youth lately.
Currently, I am a sponge — a confident albeit quasi-existential junior in college who loves music and talking to other humans, who realizes she still has a lot to soak in, interpret and squeeze out in practice.