This Isn't Where I Parked My Tesseract.

Today was as good as any other Tuesday. Which was my answer to the cashier, who had just asked about my day. She raised her eyebrows at me and continued scanning my items. It’s possible the copper-finished eye patch gave her pause, or that my grocery list, which is primarily comprised of large quantities of Nutella and hummus, made her wonder whether I ate anything else . Either way, she was definitely smirking at my expense.

As it turns out, today isn't Tuesday, and I am not a real pirate, just a telecommuter with a sty— and a sky pirate costume. It’s easy to lose track of the days, when going to work consists of rolling out of bed and deciding whether I care enough to put on a bra.

Time does strange things when you work from home. It becomes a little wibbly, sort of wobbly, and definitely timey wimey. I wonder if this is a common phenomenon among other telecommuters.

I sometimes go days without speaking to anyone in the physical world. While I've had some great conversations over various messengers and email, I should probably make an effort to step up my interaction with confirmed humans. I have no proof that any of you are real.

You could be supper-intelligent NSA chat bots, designed to distract the public with cats pictures and Sean Bean memes, while a shadow government conspires to modify our tomatoes with mind control enzymes. How would I know?

In light of recent events, perhaps we should all add a dose of paranoia to our regimens. I think I can pull off the tinfoil, assuming it comes in enough colors.

Ok… so you’re probably not a super-intelligent NSA robot master,and if you are, my search history is mostly research. I swear.

Somewhere in this network of networks, are people who would believe my Tomato Enzyme Mind Control theory. I intend to find these people and gift them with this revelation.