What I meant to say was

What I meant to say was:

I’m not lost—I’m just circling the wrong cul-de-sac with confidence.

I’m 100% certain, which statistically means I’m mostly wrong on purpose.

I don’t procrastinate—I simply file extensions with destiny’s HR department.

Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?

What I meant to say was:

Failure isn’t an option—it’s a loyalty program, and I’m platinum status.

The forecast promised sunshine,

but the sky double-booked me with a thunderstorm and an existential crisis.

And yes, dinner was served—charred, smoking, and filing for bankruptcy court.

You’re out of ketchup, by the way.

What I meant to say was:

Laundry doesn’t multiply—it breeds.

My socks aren’t missing—they’ve joined a witness protection program.

My shirts come out of the dryer folded like origami hate mail.

And my pants? They shrink out of spite, not science.

Your mom is on the phone.

What I meant to say was:

Time drags, then sprints, then circles back just to mock me.

Bread only burns when I watch it—

but if I look away, the oven fakes its own death.

Meanwhile the casserole declared bankruptcy,

and the leftovers sued me for negligence.

Did you see how big the weeds are in the backyard?

So what I actually meant to say was:

None of this makes sense.

And that’s the exact point.

Because life isn’t a recipe, a forecast, or a clean load of laundry—

it’s a random string of nonsense that somehow holds together.

And if you laughed, squinted, or shook your head halfway through…

you already get it.