Remember back in your misspent youth there was a fad of running your life according to your “Biorhythms”?

It was all based on wonderfully random things, and, if memory serves, if your physical, emotional and I think satisfactory pet ownership curves were all copacetic you could look forward to having a fabulous day, possibly meet the man/woman/other of your dreams, enjoy untold riches and be crowned the ruler of a minor European principality.

If however your curves were all over the place looking like a mad woman’s breakfast (with apologies to mad women and breakfasts everywhere, just in case the Politically Correct want to yell at me), you were destined to have a pretty crappy day and were warned not to make important decisions, go anywhere near a manhole, or even speak to your spouse lest an argument erupt. Suffice it to say, you should in fact wrap yourself up in cotton wool and go back to bed, because quite frankly you were pretty much tempting fate if you did anything else.

Well my biorhythms must be out of whack because my last couple of weeks have been a tad screwy.

I really am quite an efficient person, but in these last weeks if I’ve had a professional hiccup, naturally I had several of them, and all with the same person.

Sir had to have a procedure at the hospital which thankfully turned out just fine, but the torturous procedure to get the actual procedure had me drooping like a Raggedy Ann doll and I think it took me the better part of two days to get over it, and not a Band Aid nor a monitor got anywhere near me. Checking in at 10 a.m. as instructed, the procedure proceeded finally at 5 p.m. – at least Sir got to lie down.

Then I had to have my annual world's-most-boring eye test as I have high pressures. The bad news is the pressures had gotten worse so I now have to go onto drops and laser surgery, the good news is that the drops will make my eyelashes grow. I must remember to schedule a trim with my hairdresser when next I see him.

And then to top off the week that was, I had tickets to see a show at the Kaufman Center and had the tickets secured to the top of my (Australian) wall calendar so I wouldn’t lose them. Sir and I met for dinner before the show, and then fronted up to the concert hall only to find I had been just a tiny bit previous and the show was in fact on the next night.

I blame it all on my (Australian) wall calendar – you see it starts its week on a Monday, where U.S. calendars start on a Sunday and so, from across the room, I could see an entry on the third square which of course translated – to me – Tuesday, where in fact the third (Australian) square was Wednesday.

I will now go wrap myself up in cotton wool and will retire gracefully avoiding manholes or Sir – I don’t think he’s real thrilled with me right now. But my eyelashes are lovely.


-- Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at