Catching myself saying some funny things around the house, lately:

“You’re not my father” to the umpteenth not-the-thing-(piece-of-paper)-i-was-looking-for.

“How’s it gonna be . . .  when you don’t know me . . .  anymore.” re wondering how a table would look in a somewhat rearranged place.

Something like metaphors so hyperbolic they’re absurd.

Yes indeedy, pilgrim. =)