I walked through the lobby of the paltry hotel, weaving through furniture decades past its prime and tasteless holiday décor hung sloppily and thoughtlessly, looking left to right for sign of the ladies’ restroom. It was remarkable, I noted as my eyes glided over the sorry sight, what a couple of drinks does to the look of the place.

I trotted down a winding hallway to the bathroom, pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the facilities. I was feeling merry; I had just completed my last day of my internship for Whirlpool and tonight was my last night in St Joseph. I was celebrating with an unusually boisterous and intoxicated happy hour. I was half way through my third drink of the evening at this point in time, and though not drunk I was definitely good and tipsy.

I don’t know why I behave in a way so unfitting for the person I wish to be. I don’t know why I enable a perception of myself that solicits such crushing, demeaning judgment. I don’t want to be seen this way; I don’t want to be this way. I wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly what I wish to be, though I have those lofty, general descriptors everyone would claim to strive towards: honest, hardworking, respectable. What I want specifically still manages to elude me. There have been situations that have occurred, much to my dismay, more and more often as of late, that alert me to exactly the things I do not wish to be.

I’ve discovered that I crave attention. Perhaps I don’t crave it, per say, but I enjoy it too much to ever turn it down, no matter how inappropriate, or unrespectable, or harmful to individuals I care about and respect. I behave without integrity because I am simply too apathetic to proactively dissuade attention I should consider myself above.

I can play this game. I’m articulate and persuasive enough to rationalize and justify anything to myself. I can dress this up as some sort of ironically poetic disorder, some sort of holy apathy instilled by my elite cynicism or disconnection or intellect.

There is nothing elite about the way I act during these times. If anything, it is a trait shared amongst many types of women I hate so fervently: deep down, something base and disgusting about me loves the flattery.