Photos of Susan cause my imagination neuron-firings to multiply exponentially. That’s my biochemical reaction to her muse-ed-ness. So as I stare at this picture, my being involuntarily imagines this scenario (edited for a PG rating):
Actors: Me. Susan Coffey.

(Me wandering through a forest. Why? Because. Shut up.)

(I notice a blonde leaning casually on a tree in minimal black lingerie. I move closer to investigate.)

(Me): Susan? Susan Coffey?

(Susan Coffey): Shhhh. I’m in disguise.

(Me): Disguise?

(SC): Yeah. See the wig? The blonde wig?

(Me): Oh, it’s a wig? You didn’t bleach it?

(SC): WTF do you think I’m an idiot? Why would I ruin my already perfect hair? Anyway, I like to go incognito sometimes, you know? Blend in and stuff. So people don’t notice me. Like in Shakespeare. Mingle with the masses without drawing attention to myself.

(Me): Uhhhh…

(SC): What?

(Me): Nothing.

(SC): So how did you know it was me?

(Me): Uhhhh…

(SC): Ya know, I’ve never really done this before, but you’re pretty hot. Wanna throw down?

So even though it’s my fantasy, I still wind up sounding like a doofus. I’m even bashful with her in my imagination. In most of my pretend conversations with her, though, I’m brilliant, charming, and overwhelmingly magnetic. Which ultimately leads to her inability to resist me. In this one, I pretty much just cut to the chase.

Kinda seems like Susan’s on some kind of metaphorical pilgrimage. I’m sure it’s a valuable time, but I miss her and I hope she shows up again soon.

Photo by Insuh Yoon.