Today while working on a story, a little witticism popped into my mind. It was a throwaway play on words sired by an overheard conversation between some women (specifically about a book they were discussing) sitting nearby and the name of a person connected with an organization I am particularly familiar with. It was not an especially clever witticism, but with it came a visual of a rarefied situation in which it would be singularly humorous, and it gave me a moment’s silent chuckle.
When the inaudible laugh had died, however, I realized with a sense of despair that my witticism would never live beyond that moment. It was nothing more than the briefest of sparks in my mind, fated to flash and fade without ever limning the world with its brilliance — or at least it’s slightly above average luminescence.
Sure, I am memorializing it to some degree here, and perhaps if I ever re-read this little blog entry again, I’ll recall the witticism and it will lead something close to its abrupt life, though likely dulled and diluted by time and unable to live up to the expectation created by this disproportionate panegyric.
Perhaps that’s as it should be. It was just a second-rate pun, after all.
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