Missed Call

Seal sang about dreaming in metaphors, and Heidi Klum is not only living the metaphor but clearly enjoying the package.

So speaking of a life lived metaphorically, the metaphor for my life this week is a missed call.

Aaaaarrrrrgggggghhhhh!

Why here, why now and how could I have missed it?

After mentally torturing myself for hours, I remembered my own adage, that over-analysis is over-rated and figured, hey, it's the caller's loss, missing me, not mine! I'm not a Leo for nothing!

Yet, as much as I treasure my solitude, there are just some nights when I wish I had a man's arms (or his whole body) wrapped around me. Those are what I call my Edna St Vincent Millay nights, when I think:

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;

Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink

And rise and sink and rise and sink again;

Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;

Yet many a man is making friends with death

Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.

It may well be that in a difficult hour,

Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,

Or nagged by want past resolution's power,

I might be driven to sell your love for peace,

Or trade the memory of this night for food.

It may well be. I do not think I would.

(From Collected Poems by Edna St Vincent Millay)

As for the arms...
Exes need not apply.
Well, maybe one.
But not the one I was married to.

Damn the seduction of memory!