True confessions: I have an incredible aversion to the phone. I wouldn't label it a phobia. I'm not overwhelmed by a gut-gnawing sensation when my phone rings, but I do experience a sharp irritation akin to sandpaper on bare skin.
I envy people who can chatter endlessly on the phone because it appears to be a nice way to connect with other people. But that's not me, nor will it ever be. I'm not a phone person. In fact, I am on the other side of the planet from where you phone people live.
I can't offer a sound or rational explanation for the reason phone calls strike me as burdensome. I love talking face to face. I love hand-written letters, emails, Facebook, and of course, this blog. But phone calls - everything from the press of the device against my ear to the raspy metallic sound of the distant voice on the other line - strike me as artificial and forced. I'm not good at it, I don't enjoy it.
So I won't call. But I still miss you and you should write me a letter or email if you want to talk.
It's not you. It's me.