Sympathy for Clevinger

Last night, after midnight... no head starts, I started reading Catch-22 and couldn't help but laugh at the conversations subsidiary characters were having with Yossarian. Conversations where the former would grow increasingly more frustrated as Yossarian rounded the edges and kept the words circling back and back and back.

"Who's they?" he wanted to know. "Who, specifically, do you think is trying to murder you?"
"Every one of them," Yossarian told him.
"Every one of whom?"
"Every one of whom do you think?"
"I haven't any idea."
"Then how do you know they aren't?"
"Because..."Clevinger sputtered, and turned speechless with frustration.

I was laughing at this dialogue last night, and just moments ago I was sputtering and turned speechless with frustration in the kitchen. It's extremely difficult to have a conversation that doesn't lead to an argument when the other person reads into everything you say with their own meanings and definitions without giving you a clue of their silent additions.

"You said this."
"No I didn't."
"Yes you did."
"When?"
"When you said that."
"NO I DIDN'T!"
"Yes you did."
"You're hearing things."
"No I'm not. You got water on the bathroom floor too."
(sputtering)

It leaves you with a feeling I can only assume is most close to snapping out of a waking coma to find that somewhere in that time you got married, enlisted in the army, became an Amway representative and became besties with the Church of Scientology.

Clevinger, you have my sympathies.