Filed under: Definitely Not Paranoid, For Science, Plant Parenthood 

Listen, I know how this sounds. But hear me out.

It started innocently enough. Like any Gen-Xer who watched too much X-Files and still has her original mood ring, I decided plants would fix my life. Within six months, my Victorian farmhouse looked like a jungle had a baby with a greenhouse. Everything was fine. Normal, even.

Until they started...watching.

Evidence File #1: The Philodendron Incident

Three weeks ago, I was writing a particularly steamy scene in Dating the Were-Squatch (coming March 2026). You know the kind - all heaving bosoms and "his massive, fur-covered hands explored her fevered skin" type stuff.

I swear to God, my philodendron turned away.

Not drooped. Not wilted. TURNED. AWAY. Like a Victorian maiden clutching her pearls at impropriety. When I got up to investigate, it slowly rotated back to face the window like nothing happened.

Evidence File #2: The Succulent Situation

Mr. Prickles (yes, I name them, shut up) sits on my desk. He's supposedly a "low-maintenance" echeveria. What the care guides DON'T tell you is that echeverias apparently have opinions about plot structure.

Last Tuesday, I was stuck on chapter twelve. Couldn't figure out how to get my protagonist from "just discovered her boyfriend is a were-squatch" to "enthusiastically asking for round 2." I left for coffee, came back, and Mr. Prickles had... rearranged himself.

His little rosette was now pointing directly at my notebook where I'd scribbled "JUST HAVE HER ASK TO BREED AGAIN, YOU COWARD!"

I didn't write that note.

I live alone.

Well, alone except for three cats and twenty-seven plants.

Evidence File #3: The Mysterious Case of Coordinated Bloom Times

According to Google, my Christmas cactus should bloom in, you know, December. My African violet has its own schedule. The peace lily does whatever peace lilies do.

So WHY did they all bloom simultaneously during the season finale of Ancient Aliens?

And why did the blooms all face the TV?

Evidence File #4: The Monstera Deliciosa Messaging System

Remember in movies when aliens communicate through patterns and frequencies? My monstera has developed new holes that, when photographed and run through a pattern recognition app (yes, I'm that person now), loosely resemble star charts.

Specifically, star charts of the Zeta Reticuli system.

Evidence File #5: The Night Shift

Every night at 3:17 AM, there's rustling. Not random, wind-through-leaves rustling. Deliberate rustling. Organized rustling.

Last week, I set up a night vision camera. What I captured will haunt me forever: twenty-seven plants, swaying in perfect synchronization, despite my windows being closed and my ceiling fan turned off.

The cats were watching from the doorway, arranged in their usual triangle formation.

I'm starting to think the cats are in on it.

The Working Theory

Here's what I think is happening: alien scouts need surveillance posts that won't arouse suspicion. What's less suspicious than houseplants? They're in every home, office, and coffee shop. We voluntarily bring them inside. We TALK to them. We tell them our secrets while we water them!

They're the perfect spy network.

Think about it:

• Plants respond to stimuli (scientific fact)
• Plants communicate through root networks (also fact)
• I bought most of these from a store called "Secret Garden" (suspicious)
• The owner has unnaturally good skin for someone who claims to be 67 (SUSPICIOUS)
• She always asks how my "babies" are doing with air quotes (WHAT DOES SHE KNOW)

The Experiment

Tonight, I'm conducting a controlled experiment. I've written a fake scene where Earth successfully repels an alien invasion through the power of disco music. If my theory is correct, the plants will react negatively to this anti-alien propaganda.

I've also left out some Reese's Pieces. You know, as a peace offering.

Will update tomorrow if I'm still here and haven't been beamed up to the mothership.

Which honestly, given the state of my dating life, might not be the worst thing...

Update (3:33 AM)

THE REESE'S PIECES ARE GONE.

THE CATS ARE JUDGING ME.

THE FERN IS DEFINITELY SMIRKING.

More soon.