You choose to ignore any complaints from said fledglings.
You do not listen to opinions other than your own.
You’ve let your fear of solitude push said fledglings away.
You did not give David a choice as to of whether he would become your fledgling or not.
When you have a crisis, you simply leave.
Rather than ever answer my questions personally, you publish the answers in books for the whole world.
You flaunt your many relationships in said books.
You are clingy.
You are possessive.
You are foolish.
You become enraged at unfounded and hypocritical notions.
Your dog makes messes.
You have little thought to any of your actions.
You have no concept of thinking before acting.
You never keep in touch.
You make me worry.
You leave me wondering if you have lost your mind or perished somewhere.
I learn via the publishing of novels that you are not, in fact, dead, but then I truly fear for your sanity when you write of “the miracle of ice cubes.”