Paranoia is not one of my problems.

I have never thought that “they” are out to get us. Cheat us. Control us. I hear a lot of political discussions about “they” and it’s always about the government and how they are using their records, their knowledge, to “keep us in place.” Puh-leez.

Through a long lifetime, I’ve realized that the government isn’t organized enough to do that. The right and left hand don’t always talk to each other. Tom O’Brien used to call the government the “Gang that Couldn’t Shoot Straight.” So, I don’t waste my time worrying about it.

But now I have a concern. Like many people we have a household assistant – Alexa. The only problem is when we mention Alix, my daughter. Alexa jumps in when she hears what she thinks is her name and whips into action. I usually reply, “Alexa, quiet.” And then I wonder, for the 57th time, why I am talking to a machine that I didn’t invite to chat.

Eventually, I became aware that Alexa was listening all the time, that Big Tech has its ears open. One day we were in the kitchen talking about vegetables. Being seniors when we married ten years ago, there are still many things Dear Richard and I don’t know about each other. We were discussing eggplant, which is something neither of us crave on a regular basis. Or ever.

That night when I checked my computer, I had eggplant recipes in my email inbox. Are you kidding me? Alexa listened, and that little gossip passed our chat on to her cyber buddies. I’m surprised there weren’t vegetable seed catalogs in my inbox. However, Walmart did weigh in, listing the ingredients in the Eggplant Parmesan recipe, and how readily available they are in our local Superstore. Yikes!

About six weeks ago we unplugged Alexa. We didn’t banish her because of bad behavior. We had our cable and internet service upgraded to a wireless installation, hoping for improvement in both function and speed.

The service guy messed with the modem, recalibrating all its little thingies. He rebooted our TV, then left us to finish the work – the hooking up the printer, the desktop, two laptops, and Alexa. I just never got back to Alexa. The little wench is probably still crying in the corner. I’ll get to her as soon, as I can remember how.

But now, even without Big Sister Alexa listening, we have another problem. It seems that “Big Brother” has taken over her duties. He moved into our house soon after our wireless upgrade. He never pays rent, he never takes a bath, and I guess he eats out. But he is listening. To everything.

Last month, Richard and I began discussions in the den about needing a new mattress. With work schedules, the holidays, and travel, we haven’t made it to a mattress store yet. But it’s not like we haven’t been invited. Following our first conversation, I woke up to a morning email from the Sleep Foundation. They wanted to educate me.

The next day I received an email from the Sleep institute of America. They must have triggered the sleep disorder people who want to cure my nonexistent sleep apnea. Then came the targeted ads for CPAP devices to treat my phantom apnea, Fuggedaboudit.

All that was minor compared to the mattress hawkers. We haven’t made a purchase yet, but at least every other day we get personalized ads, infomercials, and videos for mattresses. You name it, we’ve heard from them. Sleep Number, Saatva (who?), Serta, Stearns & Foster, Dream Cloud, yada, yada, yada.

And now I’m left with more decisions than I ever knew I should consider. I naively thought we would walk into a mattress store, take our shoes off, and test drive a few pillow-tops. Now the mattress purveyors want me to consider gel content, memory foam, cooling, and innerspring wraps. Geesh.

The techies I have talked to say that our smart television is connected to the internet. The internet gives easy access to numerous streaming services in addition to being hooked up with our computers. Hulu, Netflix, Paramount and that pesky Peacock all have their ears on 24/7 and are passing around their gathered info? I dunno.

If they are eavesdropping, they must know that I struggle with my schedule. Someday soon, time management consultants will email me about organizing my day so I’m not still in my jammies at noon. Or, “We’ve noticed that you often make your bed after lunch rather than after breakfast. We’d like to help you with this scheduling problem.” Three Time Management Consultants will offer services. Then come the ads for free introductory planning classes. What’s next? I’ll bet it’s an ad for half-price pajamas.

Now that would make me paranoid.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby,32@hotmail.com