There’s some sort of condition, I can’t remember what it’s called (John would have known), where people become convinced that everyone they know isn’t really that person, they’ve been replaced by an impostor, and every object or possession they used to have – someone has come into their house and stolen those items but replaced them with identical ones.
My weird thought for today is that I feel a bit like that about this house and all my things. It surely isn’t the same house that I lived in for 17 years with my husband. I’m in a slightly different universe/reality. Every molecule of it has been replaced and put back in the same place, and now it’s, well, the same house, but not the same house. A different version of it.
Perhaps I am going mad. Or perhaps I am just trying to explain how strange I feel.