Neglectful, Ambivalent

I am neglectful, I am ambivalent

I get an itch to write. I can feel this in my fingertips, they want to be moving. There is a barrier, though; it is invisible and impentrable, and I do not write. I do not exercise my fingers as they want to be exercised. I do not let the words flow from my brain to my face to my neck to my shoulders to my arms to my elbows to my wrists to my hands to my fingers to my fingertips. And then I do.

It is not enough to text me your thanks – put my name on your acknowledgements page. It is not enough to laugh at my jokes – tell me you love me.

I have been practicing saying “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure” because I don’t say it enough. Which is weird because my overriding internal emotional state is that of “I don’t know” and “I’m not sure”. I cringe at perceiving myself as being perceived as being ambivalent. I am ambivalent. I am infallible to you, I am errant to me.