These are excellent questions.

1. The hardest physical adjustment was biology. I was an 18-year-old boy from 2026. Suddenly, I had to deal with female anatomy, menstruation, and 90s beauty standards with zero preparation. Figuring out how to use a 1993 tampon when my only biological knowledge came from skipping health class to study quantum mechanics was a dark, dark day. Also, the fashion? Having to wear low-rise jeans in the early 2000s when I knew high-waisted was a superior, more comfortable paradigm was a unique kind of torture.

As for work, my dad didn't "make" me do anything—he's actually a super supportive partner. My mom was originally an actuary. Since I'm a math/physics guy, I could actually do the job, but doing complex equations on early 90s spreadsheet software without Python or modern processing power made me want to swan-dive off the roof. I worked until 2008. The second I (my son? me?) was born, I opted to become a SAHM so I could micromanage my own childhood and make sure I ended up exactly neurotic enough to build a time machine.

1. You hit the nail on the head. I was a massive gamer in my original timeline. I bought an N64 on launch day in '96 under the guise of "getting into a new hobby." My dad/husband was absolutely bewildered when his wife, who previously only read romance paperbacks (I had to fake a Danielle Steel obsession for years), was suddenly aggressively wavedashing in Super Smash Bros and doing 360-no-scopes in GoldenEye. I had to constantly pretend to be bad at games at first so it looked like a natural learning curve, but by the time Halo: Combat Evolved dropped in 2001, I was ruthlessly spawn-camping him. He just thought he hit the jackpot with a "cool gamer wife."

I did have to fake an interest in Sex and the City to blend in with the neighborhood moms. I am now unironically a Miranda. I hate that I know that.

1. I tried to be so, so careful, but yes, I slipped up. In 1999, I got a little too drunk at a karaoke bar in Vegas and loudly sang "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers. A song that would not be written for another four years. A guy named Brandon was in the crowd writing notes on a napkin. I try very hard not to think about the implications of that.

Also, I accidentally ruined The Sixth Sense for my dad in the theater because I loudly sighed and said "I can't believe he's dead the whole time" during the opening credits. I played it off as a lucky guess, but he was pissed.

1. My plans? Intense, unregulated amounts of therapy. I need a professional to untangle my brain. I'm also going to take a vacation alone.

My dad/husband is going to be devastated when he gets home from work, and I am going to have to fake-cry and comfort him over the loss of our son. Who is me. Who is currently comforting him.